A Traveler's Tale
by southern cross
Summary: Past Dillon and beyond Texas Julie sees an old face. How do lives moving in different directions that collide one evening accommodate on another? Tulie fic of course.
1. Chapter 1

I have officially been hooked by the FNL bug, yet another Tulie fic, even though I promised myself I wouldn't start another one until I finished at least one of the other two I had. Not to be. I got inspired by this piece and wondering what things would be like if my two favorite characters met years later. What kind of people would they be and what kind of attraction would manifest? I hope this answers some of that. This is primarily Julie's story and from her perspective, I have fun writing her, so let me know what you think of it. I own nothing and mean no harm and please please please review!!! ~Sara

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Living out of a suitcase was a lot easier than people thought. The right amount of mix and match able non wrinkling clothes and you were set. Slacks, for the dressing up, jeans for the every day, no more than three each of tank tops, tee shirts, and fitted long sleeve blouses in varying shades that complimented each other, and then there was the simple black dress when slacks just wouldn't do.

She had indulged in the largest carry-on allowed by all airlines and the one with the strongest set of wheels; there were enough pockets and cubbies that all of her other necessities were tucked away without worry.

Julie Taylor was a woman who knew how to pack and pack well.

Hefting said luggage onto the conveniently place ottoman at the foot of her double bed she unzipped her bag, letting the contents breath when possible was a must. Kicking off her flats she curled her toes into the thicker than expected carpet. So far so good, two marks on the plus side already.

Mentally writing out her description of the suite, modern yet tasteful décor in rather attractive shades of grays and blues, she headed for the window and pulled apart the floor length drapes, the material which was softer and cleaner than most found at other hotels; another plus.

The view from the uppermost floor was spectacular, the city of Baltimore was not one she knew well, but its gem of an Inner Harbor certainly looked promising. There were hotels nearby, most she could see, that were taller, shinier, but at the top of eight floors she rather liked being closer to the water, and she loved the industrial exterior look of the building.

Very different and that was a good thing in this case; sometimes the bigger and brighter the architecture the less inviting the welcome.

As a travel writer it was her responsibility to explore every nook and cranny of a location. To learn its good sides and bad and report honestly back to the people who have come to rely on her opinion. It was a job she took very seriously if not one she had ever imagined herself doing.

Back in college, and before that high school, she had been convinced that it would be she, Julie Taylor, who would write the next great American Novel, or perhaps uncover the one big scandalous story that would topple the monsters controlling the Nation's crumbling health care system.

The real world it seemed had other plans for her thought. The writing she did, while good, was no where near the level it needed to be to affect that sort of change. It was a revelation that had hit in her second semester at Michigan and she barely made it through the year.

Disgusted and disheartened she had slunk back home to Dillon, to Mom and Dad, and spent the summer wallowing in depression. When the fall descended and her mind made up she headed back on the road, back to school, with every intention of switching her major to something, anything other than English and a minor in Journalism.

The next three days, her Father had insisted she only drive according to the plan he had mapped out for her, which included stopping each time the sun set, and only at hotels he had made reservations for, had changed her life. With gritted teeth she had obliged, anything was better than having her parents drive her to school for her sophomore year, a stigma she would not start the year off with.

Having taken along her laptop she had passed her free hours in the hotel rooms and restaurants commenting on her room and accommodations. There were blogs all over the Net for just such a thing and she stumbled into them easily.

Maybe it was good timing or her complete irritation at having to step foot in any of the varied hotels, but the hits to her pages began to grow. People liked her comments and observations; posters cared about what she was seeing and how it was affecting her. Amazed, she took an extra couple of days to explore the hotels near campus and watched her notoriety grow.

Instantly hooked, she started the school year with a positive and determined attitude, she continued forward in her writing degree but added lots of geography courses and several history ones as well. Those hours spent struggling through topographical maps and the rise and fall of modern capitalism had proved useful; those courses had given her broader outlooks to not only considered the place that the hotel was built but the people who had built them.

She had capped off a grueling junior year with several classes in the anthropology and psychology departments. So maybe she had gone a little off the deep end in dissecting human behavior as it relates to migratory movement, but that was the fun of college.

To this day her Father took pride in telling everyone who would listen, and some who wouldn't, that it was his doing that she was a successful writer. He positively crowed about it. Thinking about it made her smile, her vision of the Harbor blurred as she thought about home, her parents, and Gracie Belle, who was raising hell in elementary school.

Her little sister was everything she had never been, loud and boisterous, and exactly what her parents needed.

Too many times her parents, while proud of her accomplishments, bemoaned her lack of stability. She had no fixed address, just a P.O Box in Manhattan and an email account for all other necessities; no apartment, her license was still from Texas with Dillon as her home address. Julie Taylor was a ghost with a carry-on suitcase and kick ass packing skills.

But mostly they just complained that they missed her, and she missed them, but for now, her course was plotted.

Yes, ma'am she was on top of the world, at the top of her game and she was damn proud of herself.

Hardly anyone she talked to from school was happy with their careers, well except for Tyra who had gone after exactly what she wanted and would not tolerate one moment of it not living up to her expectations; she at least understood loving every moment of your job, no matter how insane it was.

So what if her friends in college were talking mortgages and engagements, she had passports stamps from places she could hardly pronounce. She had watched the New Year start in Sydney, had attended weddings on Greek Isles. Her life was full of amazing experiences.

Experiences she had shared with her faithful readers.

_And no one else_, frowning, she snapped the lovely drapes shut. Where had that thought come from?

Yes, she lived what most considered a solitary existence, but she was by no means lonely. All she had to do was pick up her Blackberry and text Tyra or pull her laptop out of her shoulder bag and wonder into one of the many chat rooms she frequented.

Not lonely at all.

"Who the hell am I trying to convince?"

Talking to oneself was an unfortunate side effect to her work. It was a running joke amongst her self and the few other writers she had come to know over the years who worked the circuit. The more one talked to one self the worse the distractions offered by their hosts.

Unfortunately she couldn't blame the hotel for the outburst; no, she was dipping into thoughts best left alone.

There was that word again; she snorted, full on out loud.

Heading back towards her suitcase she dug out a clean pair of underwear some jeans and a bright red tank top; she needed a bit of bold to jar her from her blue thoughts.

The suites' master bath was heavenly. Bypassing the sunken tub, which she was totally checking out later she went for the glass encased shower and turned on its eight jets of magic.

She over indulged in the steaming water and took her time using the complimentary lotions. Using toiletries provided was a given but she had a small emergency kit buried in her bag just in case the product given were dreadful. That lesson had been learned the hard way in Toronto; she hadn't quite forgiven the Canadians for that follicle debacle.

Well aware that the cleavage on display was alarming, and the jeans were just a tad to snug on her ass to not catch many a roving eye, she shrugged at her reflection and pulled her wet back into a tight ponytail.

What use was having it if you were just going to cover it all up; she grinned, and that was her Aunt talking in her head. The blush that spread across her neck as she turned left to admire her profile could not be helped. She might have the goods to flaunt, but that didn't mean she did it often or well.

With her pinkie she smeared on some shiny gloss, coconut this month, and ran a dab of mascara over her lashes, and she was set.

Tugging out her favorite pair of Quicksilver flip flops she cursed when the pocket they were in refused to let go, "Ah ha!"

Victory; with a grin, she dropped them to the floor and stepped into them, her mood much better than it had been an hour ago.

Reaching for her hand bag, deciding against her shoulder bag and the lap top within, she decided any note worthy comments could be jotted down on any one of the notebooks in her pocket book. Half written thoughts or ideas, comments, and even the occasional opening chapter to yet another novel she would never finish were scattered throughout the half dozen Moleskin journals.

For all the work she did in a Word document there was something wonderful about writing out the word in your own half legible scrawl.

Taking one last glance around the room, noting where everything was, it was always important to note such details lest someone go through your stuff and you not be aware of it. Privacy is always at the top of every good hotelier must list.

Confident all was well, and feeling far bolder than she could remember being in recent months, she headed out to explore the hotel and the city beyond.

* * *

The staff was good, very good; not one of the people in uniform had batted an eye when she had sauntered down the hall. She knew she looked a tad bit under dressed for the price range of the suite she was occupying but that was all part of her job.

No one at the hotel knew they were being reviewed, as far as they knew, she was some rich kid on school break; she never had caught her looks up to her age.

All of her postings online were done under a pseudonym. That was something she had insisted on. As much as she enjoyed the popularity of the work she did and the power she wielded over hotel bookings, she wasn't eager for her name to be popping up in blogs.

So the comps the hotels sent to the magazine were carefully rerouted through dummy companies and quietly booked in one of her varied aliases. It all sounded very James Bond even though it so wasn't, a few keystrokes by one of the tech guys and all done. She had been disappointed in that show, she had been expecting lots of typing and clicking and something involving an array of three monitors; but no such luck.

This weekend Camille Turner was enjoying a three day stay and had all sorts of reservations booked. Spa treatments, cardio, yoga, hair cut, mani/pedi; she was toned in places she didn't think could be exercised and Tyra couldn't be more pleased at the care she took in her hair; if she only knew.

Then there would be the actual sightseeing. Many places offered their own sorts of attractions, tours and activities. From diving to hiking to history to spinning pottery; she got a taste of it all. And that was just on the grounds themselves.

Anything within walking distance of the hotel was fair game too. She made no bones about the fact if a hotel touted its ease of access to whatever tourist trap they better be correct down to the foot. Nothing in her opinion was worse than the propaganda spouted by the resorts in Orlando.

Tomorrow she would tackle the foot work, right now she wanted to get a feel for the hotel itself, check out some of the shops, but after lunch.

Her flight in from St. Louis had not provided any type of sustenance and she had bypassed terminal fast food in her haste to get checked in and her stomach was growling.

The elevator, which was paneled in wood stained pleasantly dark, was spacious and tight on its descent. There were too many elevators out there that bounced their passengers around and she had little tolerance for them.

Bypassing the more formal restaurant on the second floor and the lounge there as well, she headed to the lobby; she had spotted a promising looking coffee shop with an attached gift shop; convenience was good.

The menu was short and varied; she ordered a hot sandwich, fries and the largest cup of coffee they would give her and took a table near the entrance, affording her the best possible view of the lobby. People were coming and going, there was a relaxed vibe, quiet money stayed here. New money stayed the Hyatt, old money at the Tremont. The International was at the edge of the Inner Harbor and took pride in being so.

She wasn't sure how that was going to translate into her overall stay here, but she pulled out a notepad and jotted down that and several other observations. The fact that the fitness center was not open 24 hours was a bit outdated. And it definitely sucked that there was not free wireless in every suite. In this day and age that was simply unforgivable.

The food was good though. Her sandwich was a hot runny mess and she loved it. The fries were of the boardwalk variety, and while not her favorite there enough salt and vinegar on them to make her lips pucker and that was a plus. The sign had boasted that the fries were just as good as the boardwalk fries in Ocean City, MD. She made a note to check out any possibilities there. It was a backwards sort of networking but if a place she was visiting made a good impression, than its affiliations were worth noting.

A loud crash jerked her attention back to the lobby, a fry was half way to her mouth, and she smiled around the bit of potato she bit in half. Football players, specifically Ravens players had knocked over one of the luggage trolleys. Her Father would have been proud of the many and loud apologies, no Panther would have been ever leave a mess of their own creation for someone else; and she smiled behind her hand as the big men struggled to balance the bags back on the cart.

Baltimore was a sports town; a big one. Maybe a trip to the nearby stadiums was in order. While she could admit that she had gone through a phase in college, had shunned any and all sport related activity, she had gotten over it; it was in her blood after all, and she followed her teams.

On the college and professional circuits there were the teams her Father would be cheering for and a few of her own that she picked up along the way. An afternoon at Camden Yards sounded great.

As the commotion in the lobby was settling down, her eyes drifted over the sea of purple and white jerseys; there was something there, at the corner of her memory and she couldn't quite grasp it.

It would come to her, probably at the most random of times, but there was something about the Ravens jerseys that she should remember.

"Damn," she stood, tray in hand and tried to shake off the frustration and dumped the trash in the bin. The gift shop was accessible through the restaurant or by its own entrance from the lobby. She wandered through and took her time poking through the necessities and souvenirs. On the spinner rack by the entrance she found the perfect keychain, she had a keychain from every place she had ever stayed in; the date of her stay written in black sharpie on the back.

The car she had driven to back to school in the summer after freshman year was in long term storage in Oklahoma City; stashed away in the trunk, she hadn't driven it in ages, were the special things she had collected over the years, including her ever growing collection of key chains.

While she was skimming through the latest US weekly the new Nora Roberts tucked under her arm she got a text.

"Tyra," she grinned down at the screen.

They exchanged thoughts as she paid for her selections and headed back out to the lobby.

Her feet carried her out into the sun, when she looked up from her last message, she found herself looking out over the water. There was no doubt in her mind that whenever she did settle down, wherever it was there was going to be water; lots of it.

Maybe that's why she hadn't been anxious to sign a lease or buy a 'starter' home. She had a clear vision of what she wanted in terms of her home, and while she made damn good money, she wasn't quite there yet.

Not to mention her parents were going to be all kinds of upset when she broke it to them that she wasn't going to be settling in Dillon with a bunch of grandchildren nearby for them to spoil.

Her Mom was going to be the best grandma though, it brought a smile to her face imagining the birthdays and Christmas Eve's that her Mother would be orchestrating; she always was one for the big events.

There was a plan; work and work and save and save; and then she could buy her land and build her house.

_All alone_; there was that stupid voice again. The one that was nagging at her, asking her all sorts of unwanted questions, like did she want to build that house all by her self, and when was she going to get working on those kids?

The food she had devoured was settling like lead in her belly.

Turning and heading back into the hotel, she felt the first twinge of a headache. Squinting out in the afternoon sun without her sunglass mixed with her too tight pony tail was doing a number on her head.

A quick stop back at the gift shop and she bought the strongest Tylenol they had she headed for her suite. Some pills and a nap with the air turned just a tad cooler than comfortable was just what she needed.

Her keycard took on the first try for which she was grateful, as many times as she had used them she still struggled more often than not with the swipe.

Cranking up the A.C. she stripped out of her jeans and tank top, freeing her breasts from the underwire, she massaged the skin under her breasts, what women were forced to do for fashion.

Digging out her softest sleep shirt she turned off every light and took three little white pills, but left the bottle and some water on the nightstand, she crawled under the covers. The comforter she had left on the bed was heavier than it looked and she snuggled deep underneath, immediately she felt the tension easing from her body; nothing was better than hotel pillows.

One of these days she was going to break down and buy one for the rare occasion she was not checked into a hotel somewhere, but every time she though she had found the perfect pillow she laid her head on another one that rocked her world.

Snickering into her pillow, which was pretty amazing, she closed her eyes and began counting back from fifty trying to push aside the details of the night to come and the events during the day tomorrow. When her mind got to spinning with the lists than she knew it was going to be a rush set of hours and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Focusing harder on the numbers she switched her count over to French, it took more energy and she felt herself fading.


	2. Chapter 2

Well I am not sure how to rate this fic, I absolutely adore it, I'll be honest but the decidedly lack of reviews makes me wonder. :( I hope its laziness and not a real reflection on the story so far but I can't be sure because there aren't many comments. So this chapter and the Tulie in it is dedicated to those who took the time to leave some words, thanks. Please enjoy.

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Most of the afternoon had passed when she finally managed to roll herself out of bed. And that she did begrudgingly. Sleep was calling to her, lazy, hazy sleep. It was going to be an early night for her.

But there was work to do, observations to be made, and so she headed for the bathroom and once again bypassed the tub for the shower. Dragging her black slacks and a light blue blouse along with, she hung them on the back of the door while the water was heating.

At check in she had made dinner reservations for six-thirty, she was never one to eat to late, and had planned on a cocktail after in the lounge. Depending on how her meal and drinks mixed she may or may not take a short walk.

Nightlife was a tricky thing for a woman alone in an unfamiliar city, but she had taken several self defense courses and carried the strongest pepper spray allowed. But mostly she walked smart. She avoided corners and dark spots, never strayed anywhere too empty, and if she got turned around she didn't take another step in any direction until she knew exactly where they would take her.

There was no part of her that would feel ashamed at calling for help; whether it was for a cab or the cops, she wasn't about to trifle with her personal safety.

Pressed and dressed and with ten minutes to spare she headed out the door, her hair still slightly damp and hanging straight against her back.

The restaurant had a unique theme; it made her think of a restaurant that Rudyard Kipling would have written into one of his pieces. Immediately her mood brightened, she was charmed by Charm City. Snorting, she hid the noise behind her napkin; that comment was not going to be making it into her piece. She avoided corny at all times.

Her appetizer was served quickly and she was playing idly with her glass of wine watching the people come and go when she heard boisterous laughter; football players.

Again her smile turned nostalgic, and her thoughts spun again towards the Ravens and why seeing their jerseys had almost triggered a memory.

"Julie? Julie Taylor?"

Of course! Knowledge hit at just the same moment the voice spoke. Tim Riggins. Tim Riggins had signed out of Oklahoma to play for the Ravens; her Father had been especially proud of that fact considering what he had had to put up with concerning 'that Riggins boy'.

And Tim Riggins was standing next to her table, staring down at her dumbfounded face with a bemused smile spreading across his own, 'crap.'

"Tim, oh my God, it's you," she rose and turned awkwardly away from her table. They shared a stiff hug of greeting. Tim had been in and out of her social circle the last couple of years in Dillon. Most definitely in when he had become an impromptu roommate and covered for her that unfortunate night, but less so after he had gotten heavy with Lyla.

"It is me," it was unexpectedly wonderful to hear that twang, to hear it and know it, and she was glad that he hadn't lost it.

"Are you staying here? Do you want to sit?" the questions came naturally, but they didn't faze Tim, who took a seat without hesitation.

"The team is in town for some off season publicity work, most of the guys are at the Hyatt, but a few of us are staying here," he was staying here in her hotel. Excited that she might run into him again, she smiled.

"That sounds exciting," he shrugged, it was an indifferent shrug of the shoulder. She had forgotten that so much of what excited the mere mortals at Dillon had never fazed 33. That hadn't changed it seemed.

They were interrupted by the server who gracefully filled Tim's glass of water and deposited another beer, an import, at his place setting.

The distraction gave her a moment to collect her thoughts, to study the man sitting across from her. She couldn't say she knew him well, they had shared some laughs, a near death experience, but he had always seemed so very much older than her; so very good looking.

And that certainly hadn't changed.

Tim Riggins had been a good looking high school student; that was not to be disputed. Lois had been in love for him all throughout those years, and she herself had envied Tyra's claim to Riggins fame on more than one occasion, but she had never thought of him as much more than a hot guy in study hall.

That guy from study hall had nothing on grown up Tim, because Tim all grown up was beyond good looking. His hair was still too long and falling into his face, but it looked softer than she remembered it being. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth when he smiled at the waiter that made his cute grin devastating.

Lust boiled deep in her gut. She was lusting after Tim Riggins. It wasn't her fault, his hands were to blame. Clearly they were tan and calloused and she had never noticed how long his fingers were; they were some of the best looking hands she had ever seen on a man and she had a thing for hands.

Cutting her eyes away from the fingers on the gold long neck she reached for her wine and took a deep drink. For all their familiar history, they were strangers, and she needed to get a grip and stop thinking about hands and hotness.

"What brings you to Charm City?" he settled back in his chair, clearly not planning on going anywhere, she found herself pleased by the thought.

"I'm working, writing an article for my editor," he nodded.

"That's right, Coach mentioned you were some kind of travel writer," she grinned, imagining her Father rambling on to Tim freaking Riggins about her, "sounds like a great gig."

Compared to what he did, not so much, she shrugged, "I like it. I get to travel a lot. There are worse ways to make a living."

Tim chuckled; the server reappeared with their dinners, a steak for him, and the seafood sampler for her. She had taken a chance, considering how she had felt crappy before, but this was a water town, so the seafood would be fresh; at least she hoped it would be.

"So Dad tells me you had a great season," the Ravens had made it to the Playoffs and while they hadn't made it to the Superbowl, their fullback had earned himself a trip to the Probowl.

"Coach been telling stories huh," their shared a look, both knowing exactly how much oxygen Eric Taylor spent on the Great Game of Football.

"Yeah, he is forever talking about one or more of you guys and what you are doing," in fact the more she thought about it the more she realized that the ease with which she was living this moment with Tim was due entirely to her Father continuing to mention him often and with much affection.

Tim hadn't seemed to know what to do with that detail so they ate quietly, comfortably.

She wasn't sure who started it, but soon they were trying to one up each other. Tim, in his seasons in collegiate and professional football, had traveled extensively, and she of course had been to more cities and states than she could hardly remember.

Back and forth they traded locales, name dropped restaurants and hotel, casually hinted at landmarks that may or may not really be in said city. In short it was the most fun she had had in a while.

Her laugh was long and loud as he shared an embarrassing moment in Denver that had for sure upped hers about Detroit.

Dessert was cooling between them and she found herself wishing the meal didn't have to end. She was enjoying the company, his company, and wasn't ready for it to end, but he no doubt had far more exciting plans for after dark; which was why she was pleasantly surprised at his offer to get a drink.

"You sure you don't have some rally girls waiting for you?" she couldn't help the rib; it had been common knowledge that 33 had the most Rally girls of all the other Panthers.

"No, no nothing like that," he laughed and offered his hand as she made to stand.

Again she found herself staring at his hand, "What is it?"

Caught, she blushed and sent her eyes up to his; bad solution, he was taller than her, much more than she remembered, and she had to tilt her head back slightly too comfortably meet his eyes; eyes that were far more interesting than she would have thought.

Tim had always been a yummy package and it was slightly disconcerting to see that the parts making up the package were quite delicious on their own; from the hands, to the smile, to the mix of green and gold in his eyes.

Then there was the smell; damn, but he smelled good, a thick and rich and strong cologne that was worth every penny on its no doubt extravagant price label.

This was not good, not good at all, she had no business looking at him like that, well she couldn't help but look, but she couldn't think; yeah, she would just not think about him.

"You OK?" he ducked his head just enough that the words were warm on her neck.

"Uh huh," her thoughts must have bled onto her face, because she felt the frown on her face melt away as embarrassment replaced it; _real slick, Taylor._

She needed to start spending time around real people, no matter how many emails and text messages you sent to stay in touch, none of that would prepare you for actually having someone put their hand on the small of your back to lead you through the maze of tables.

Yeah, so it was nice.

The restaurant hadn't reach full capacity yet, the bulk of the dinner rush was yet to come, but there were enough eyes looking their way. She didn't know if the patrons recognized Tim as being a Raven or if they were just staring because he was hot, which she understood; either way she wasn't used to the attention. Disconcerted she missed a step near the entrance.

"I got you," Tim graciously took her arm, giving her a moment to steady herself; she whispered a thanks and sent him a smile.

She was being ridiculous, she was a strong, independent, and successful woman, and she shouldn't be falling over herself because some man was slipping her hand through the crook of his arm. Correction, it wasn't some man, it was Tim.

They moved through the slightly busier lounge, making their ways towards the bar. The décor was along the lines of the restaurant, even more so, she felt dropped in a turn of the century explorer's lounge, and she loved it.

"What?" he had noticed her smile, she wasn't used to being observed.

"Oh, just the room, it's great," he looked up when she waved her hand over the room, his eyes darting over surfaces.

"I suppose it is different," she laughed, 'different', it might not be to everyone taste's, but it was tasteful and she was certainly eager to drink and sink back into one of the overstuffed chairs, preferably the ones by the fireplace.

A fire in the summer was something she could totally get behind, "So what's your poison."

Her attention turned back to Tim, who seemed amused at her wandering eyes, "Sorry, I got distracted," he shrugged, "Um, I'll have a Southern Comfort and orange juice."

Tim's eyebrow raised and she smirked, she was no lightweight getting drunk on Coors Light from a red cup, she could hold her liquor, "a jack and coke," predictable.

The bartender nodded and moved to fill their orders, "You know I tended bar for a semester back in college," both of Tim's eyebrows rose at that, he leaned both arms against the bar, turning his body slightly to the right to watch her.

"Is that right?" he seemed amused by the thought.

"I sure did, it was a small bar right off campus, mainly catered to Greek Row, it was a great gig, good tips," she had loved that job.

"Somehow I can't see you," he pointed at her, "back there," he pointed to the other side of the bar.

She laughed, "Maybe not, but I swear I did, would have kept right on doing it too but my Father found out."

He flinched, "well."

"Yeah, that was unpleasant," so putting it mildly, but then Tim knew her Dad and could probably imagine how that conversation went, "he threatened to drive up there and burn the place down if I didn't quit," no amount of begging or pouting had changed his mind. True, she had been twenty-one, but it hadn't mattered to Eric Taylor.

"I believed him," she took her drink from the bartender with thanks, Tim asked for a tab to be started and no one batted an eye, she was really going to have to mention the excellence of the staff in her article.

"After you," taking the lead he offered she made a beeline for the fireplace and the overstuffed chairs, she would have those, almost exact replicas, in her house one day; from the distressed brown leather to the brass studs lining the seam on the headrest.

Sipping her drink she grimaced, "they are generous with their whiskey," she grinned, "but I like it."

Tim chuckled and took a sip of his drink. It was hard to describe how surreal it was to be sitting by a fire drinking with Tim and she told him so, he laughed, warm and long, and her toes curled in her flats. Distracting herself from the reaction the sound was making in her belly she took a big drink.

"I guess we didn't hang out very much back then," he was staring into his glass, she wondered what he was thinking, realized that she knew little to nothing about him now, not that she knew a lot before.

"So what do you do when you aren't checking in and out of hotels and playing ball?" he looked up, their eyes meeting across the short distance and her breath caught. The moment stretched, the silence extended, it was bordering on incredulous when the loud snap of a fireplace log made her jump.

The shared a smile, the tension that had built dissipated as quickly as it appeared, she might have thought the whole moment a figment of her imagination if she hadn't felt his eyes on her as she stared into the fire.

"I bought some land, not too far from here, been trying my hand at construction," her head whipped back around at his words.

"You're building your own house?" he nodded.

"Like with your own bare hands?" he chuckled into his drink.

"It's been known to be done," she rolled her eyes, of course people like built houses but usually it wasn't their own home and it wasn't a hobby and it wasn't a famous football player.

"Wow," she shook her head in amazement, "that's amazing."

The more she thought about the more incredible it was, maybe it was because she had thinking about her own plans not to long ago, or that she had been obsessing over his hands. An inappropriate voice began whispering ways to get an invite to see the work in progress; ignoring it was harder than it should have been.

Their meeting tonight had been totally accidental, never to be repeated, just a dinner between people who knew each from school and lived through a tornado; because they had never really been friends and there was no reason to think that would change now.

"Your wheels are turning," she looked up, found him once again staring at her, and once again wishing she could read him better. At her confusion he shrugged.

"When you are thinking there's a little line," he leaned forward in his seat, just close enough that the index finger on his left hand could brush smooth the skin between her eyebrows, "right there."

There might not be a line there now, she had lost all capability to think, but there was certainly a jaw hanging open and wide eyes. Scrambling she found some words and threw them out there.

"Uh, I wasn't thinking anything," she cringed, he smirked, and the logs popped again. This time she was too caught up in their newest moment to react.

Moments with Tim Riggins what with the staring, and careful observations, and the touching, well they were upending her world.

Her ice cubes clinked at the bottom of her glass and she looked down absently at it, unaware of when exactly she had finished it, "Another?" he rose, extending his empty hand for her glass.

She really shouldn't, "yes, please," but she absolutely wanted the courage. As he walked back to the bar, she watched him go. She had been so surprised by his appearance at her table she had not paid any attention at all to what he was wearing. Her attention was solely focused on that now, and she like what she saw.

Clothes, really nicely pressed and put together clothes, he carried them well. The black slacks were fitted and had a straight crease down the legs, the grey knit shirt, while a little warm for a summer evening, fit him snugly and showed in excruciating detail the muscles beneath. Tim cleaned up well, and she felt a surge of pride.

Good for the Dillon boy for moving on and up in life. Too many of the boys she had known in school were still idling around the county; some had never left the state, much less upgraded to passports and Armani. So good for Tim, she was smiling when he came back and he smirked down at her as he handed her, her drink. She knew he knew, somehow he knew that she had been checking him out, that she had liked what she had seen.

_Whoa_ where had that admission come from? Somewhere the resolve to not think about him 'like that' had wavered, because she was totally thinking about him that way.

And why shouldn't she?

He was here and she was here and they were both single and here. Panic, terror, she choked on her drink.

"Wait," his eyes turned her way, concerned, "are you like seeing anybody?" why oh why could she write detailed and moving accounts of a three day stay in Vail but when she spoke she sounded like a hormonal teenage girl?

This time the smirk was epic and she deserved it, merely sipped her drink, as he basked in her discomfort, "No ma'am."

The 'ma'am' did not go unnoticed as she set her glass down on her knee, "not ma'am, miss, and no I am not seeing anyone either," true, she had been the one to idiotically bring up the subject, but there had been no need for him to send it right back at her so obnoxiously. She sniffed her displeasure and looked away, he chuckled, she huffed; she could do this all night, not many did bratty like Julie Taylor.

His chuckle became a laugh, "It's been too long since I've laughed this much," the honest admission softened her mood considerably, and she looked back at him, surprised by the sincerity of his words.

"I haven't either," and she hadn't and she was glad that she had run into him tonight, glad that she had taken that second drink.

"I'm glad," he was staring at her again, her blush was back, but she didn't look away, not this time.

"Me too," she drained her glass and handed it out to him, he raised an eyebrow and she shrugged, "I want to laugh some more."

Baltimore was certainly surpassing all her expectations.


	3. Chapter 3

You guys are the best!! Thanks so much for letting me know that I was sort of on track with this future fic. The second half of this chapter was soooo much fun to write and I hope it's as fun for you to read. Please let me know what you think your words motivate my muse.

* * *

Waking up had been an ordeal; a complicated and rather painful ordeal. Working her tangled hair away from her face made her already throbbing head, pound.

Perfect recall came with complete coherence, as much as she had drunk last night, and it had been quite a bit, Tim had cut her off when her words got a little too loud and kindly escorted her to her room.

Thanking the hotel gods for nightstands so very close to beds she reached for the day old water and pain pills. Downing three she eased back onto the pillow, shutting her eyes to the soft light filtering through the curtains, she willed the pounding in her head to ease.

While she would more than likely suffer through the day for it, last night's activities had been a lot of fun; Tim had been a lot of fun. Talking to someone who knew the people and places she referenced in stories was invaluable.

She ached suddenly for Dillon, for her family and Friday nights and football.

There might not be other Taylor's present and it wasn't Friday, but she could get herself some football. Smiling she considered Tim's offer to come by the stadium, the team would be running some drills, doing some press junkets and he had invited her to come.

Last night she had not actually considered going, the alcohol had been making her blood hum, and all she had wanted to do was dance. Her legs had been bouncing in her seat after her third drink; the walk down the hall to her room had been an embarrassing sequence of hops and pirouettes. What a night.

And it could be a good day too, if she decided to go and see him again.

There was a spa treatment she had to attend, but she could easily make it to the stadium at two, she had planned on seeing some of the city. And maybe it was time to be a little bit more thorough in her reviews of the cities. She could talk sports or culture and flesh out her articles a bit more. Maybe draw in some more readers that way.

Give the fans the low down on the sports scene and the noobie an education.

Excited by the prospect her decision made, she would go to M&T stadium and pick up the pass at will call and spend the afternoon with Tim. Laying out all the details in her made it more manageable.

But first she had to get out of bed, rolling to her left, she massaged the back of her neck, the tension began to ease; maybe she would sleep a little more first.

Waking up the second time had not been so bad. Anticipating the huge meal she had called in she had blazed through her shower, her tangled hair had required two conditionings, resolving once again to test the tub before the day was out.

With the bathrobe tied firmly around her waist she opened the door on the first knock and her mouth salivated at the smell.

She had a weakness for breakfast items, would pass by other meals in the day having over indulged in the morning, as she had every intention of doing right now.

With a tip and a thank you she shut and locked the door behind the server and snatched up her phone before sitting down to her meals.

As she poured orange juice, than coffee with one hand she thumbed through her missed calls and messages, intending to check her email when she caught sight of a missed call from an hour ago, 'T.R.'

Last night he had grabbed her phone, adding in his contact numbers and retrieving hers for himself, all of which he had done while she had been trying to decide between mozzarella or buffalo based snacks. He had handed her back her phone and ordered one of both.

With a smile she grabbed a strip of bacon, cooked until it was nearly burnt, which was the only way to eat it, she hit the 'call' button.

"Taylor," her breath released at his quick answer, it had barely rung once, and no one answered on the first ring anymore.

"33," he chuckled, sending a jolt of pleasure into her ear and straight down between her naked legs.

Reaching for her juice she took a big swig, "You surviving OK?"

His concern was good to hear, "Yeah, had a whale of a headache earlier but I slept through it," she dumped an obscene amount of syrup on her pancakes, "I had fun last night."

There was a pause and she looked up, not really seeing the painting that hung over the bed, "I did too."

And he meant it, she didn't know what the pause was about, but the sincerity was there and clear, "Good," she smiled at her fork full of dripping pancake and took the big bite.

"Are you eating Taylor?"

"Yes sir I am stuffing my face as we speak," literally; her mouth was full of fluffy doughy goodness.

"Sounds good," she laughed, "It is."

She stopped herself before she spoke the next words that nearly trickled out, which nearly asked him if he wanted to stop by and share; it was too soon for that. Besides there were noises in the background, decidedly none hotel noises, he must have already left for the stadium.

"So I was thinking about it and I think coming by today might be a lot of fun," it was weird not being able to see him as she spoke, to read his face.

"Glad to hear it," again with the stupid grin on her face, she licked some ketchup of her thumb. They chatted for a few more minutes he managed to make her laugh out loud twice before they hung up.

Wolfing down as much as she could before she absolutely had to leave for her spa treatment she made a note not to call Tim while she was eating again, she simply could not split her attention between the two properly and manage her time.

The trip to the spa was made in haste, and she hated rushing, absolutely hated when time did not fall in place accordingly; and for that she totally blamed Tim. Enough Tim thoughts, there was work to be done, pushing open the door to the spa, she was greeted by the scent of mint and orange, a good mix, and more pleasing décor. Dark and light grey's jumbled together with varying shades of blue and pops of orange.

She approved.

As she was lead back into a changing room, she felt the vibrations of her phone, short and long and long, 'Tyra'.

"Hello," she nodded to the attendant; again with the multi-tasking. Before she could ask for a chance to call back later Tyra launched into her latest frustration with all things Matt Saracen.

Rolling her eyes, which was made all that more funny, by her own reflection rolling their eyes back, she hemmed and hawed when appropriate while struggling out of her clothes. Not for the first time she considered making a mental note to buy one of those ear piece things, but she wasn't ready to concede complete victory to her phone.

"Tyr-"the interruption was not unexpected and she shrugged into the lavender, a nice change, bath robe; when Tyra had sat her down a year ago and told her that she had run into Matt in Atlanta and they had started talking, she had been shocked. The weirdness had faded as she had listened to Tyra go on and on about the afternoon they had spent together.

Her oldest friend had genuinely liked a person she had let go a long time ago and she had encouraged their union in all ways. Matt was good for Tyra, a constant and stabilizing factor in Tyra's larger than life, well life. She had big plans, big dreams, and it was good that there was someone there to put a realistic spin on things.

Not that any moment between them had been easy, they were at odds more than they weren't, but it was the way of their thing. So as a dutiful friend she listened and sympathized and finally edged in that she had to go and promised to call back later.

As she was led into the room for her massage, she considered how odd it was that Tyra had found Matt and now here she was stumbling over Tim. Were they such different people now, that a relationship that might not have ever been in school, now seemed so natural. Aging was certainly a funny thing like that.

Lying out on her stomach she closed her eyes, relaxing, this was one part of her job that she never begrudged.

Usually her thoughts faded to her house, her future home, she walked over the hard wood floor and would move by the floor length windows to look out over the rolling yard that led to the water. Colors were changed on the walls and fabrics altered slightly on the furniture, but the basic layout rarely altered.

This time when her eyes closed she saw the unfinished frame of a house, a hint at what it might be, and set on land she had only heard described, and most notably she saw Tim. No matter how many times she tried to draw up any other image it circled back around to him.

As her body relaxed her thoughts drifted, imagined strolling along arm in arm with him by the water. It was a nice thought, slipping into thoughts of kissing him, of touching him were not to far behind and much easier to consider than she figured it would be.

There was an attraction between them, certainly on her side, and she was fairly sure that he felt it too; by the end of her massage she had convinced herself of the fact if not decided on what to do about it.

What would be the point in moving past drinks and flirting with Tim? Their lives were complicated enough.

At least hers was, the traveling and secrecy involved in her work made relationships difficult, and she wasn't sure if she was the one night stand kind of girl. That was not something she had ever done before and there was no reason to think that would change now.

"Thank you miss," she had signed for her bill, apparently her tip had been noteworthy, whatever, her limbs were loose; it was her head that was a mess.

Heading back to her room, she checked her phone, no missed calls and only a few texts, she responded accordingly and set it to vibrate, she would be heading to the stadium soon; she wanted to focus all her attention on the sights and sounds to come.

Picking out a denim skirt and light pink tank top, she stepped into her brown flip flops; it had been a warm morning, promising a blazing afternoon. Grabbing her shoulder bag, she consider at the last minute that she might want to do something a little special for dinner, that she may in fact have company for it and might want to dress up.

The little black dress was carefully extracted from her suitcase and hung on the on the towel warmer in the bathroom. She turned the heat up in the bathroom and shut the door tight. Not all the wrinkles would be gone, but the majority of them, she hated using an iron, even though every hotel suite included one. There had been that incident in seventh grade with the iron and the new area rug her Mom had picked up at Pier One; bad times.

With a grin, considering reasons why she might be compelled to pull out the ironing board, she headed back out.

* * *

The cab ride to M&T Stadium was not a long one, but it afforded her a glimpse at downtown Baltimore. Much had been done to renovate and rejuvenate the city and the popularity of its sports teams had a lot to do with that. Her plan had been to fully explore the Inner Harbor and its nightlife but if she had had an extra day she would have liked to have gone up to Fort McHenry, seeing the birthplace of the National Anthem might have been cool.

Pulling out her day planner she jotted down her thoughts and added a bit more to the whole sports aspect of her article. Tapping her pen against her lips she considered her options, she was scheduled to check out tomorrow morning and catch a flight back to New York; maybe she could stay for another day. It would give her time to not only check out the Fort and maybe the National Aquarium, but she could really work at the twist in her article while the thoughts were still fresh.

Pleased, she pulled at her phone and typed up a quick email to her editor and outlined her thoughts; she very rarely asked for plans to change, and she didn't think that there would be a problem, especially since she would be tapping into a consumer group every one was after. As the cab bounced along she checked Expedia and changed her ticket to an open end date. If she couldn't catch a flight there was always the train; she had made that trip from DC to New York and it wasn't bad.

Train travel was seriously over looked by travelers; while it took longer to get places there was way less time involved in the actual arrivals and departures and that counted for a lot. She would much prefer a longer, more relaxed journey, with her work spread out before her; than hours navigating a terminal and long security lines.

And with that totally random thought she dropped her planner in her bag and slid her phone back in her pocket, just as the cab pulled up to the stadium. Her tip was generous and she rolled her eyes behind her dark tinted aviators when a group of guys in a convertible rolled by and hollered at her.

"Boys," she muttered and turned on her heel, there was only one will call window open and she walked over to it nervous suddenly; she was really here, taking up an invite she really did not need to be taking, "Julie Taylor," but that hadn't stopped her from handing over her I.D. when asked for it.

The perky lady behind the glass smiled and handed her a plastic card attached to a purple lanyard and pointed to the entrance. Well that had been easy, she looked down at her pass, it was marked 'VIP' and yeah she smiled at that. It was nice to be someone's VIP even if it was just for an afternoon of football drills.

Still as she walked through the entrance she was decidedly awed by the sheer size of the place. Moving past the closed vendors she headed towards the shouting and music. Her eyebrow raised, there would not have been music playing at a Panther practice, but then this wasn't a real practice. The white and purple jerseys stood out nicely against the too green field, she slid out her phone and gave in to the impulse for a shot, a picture reminder of this soon to be special moment.

Pictures were a last day thing; on the morning on whatever day she checked out she went into picture overload. She had been known to fill up an entire memory card with pictures of hotels and surrounding grounds. There would be mad picture taking this time too; what with the water and the great hotel and the good memories.

Grinning she walked up to the closest person who looked like they belonged and asked them how to get wherever she was supposed to go, the young man, 'Alan' was on his name tag had discreetly checked her badge and then offered to walk her down to the field. He chatted the entire time and she half-listened he liked to use his hands, a lot, and she found it distracting. She was eager to move down the steps, the jerseys were still too far away to distinguish the numbers, but she held her tongue.

He seemed to be enjoying having someone to talk to and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. Reporters mingled amongst the small groups of players who had stepped out of the drills either to answer questions or get some water. The heat was getting progressively more intense the further they moved down, but it was nothing like one of her Father's afternoon drills, at least not yet.

In groups of eight and twelve there were plays being run and drills being practiced, photographers with their huge lenses moved around carefully; it was a fine dance, the perfect shot versus personal safety. There was no way she was dancing with a 300 pound lineman, no thank you.

"I think who you are looking for is this way," she glanced over at Alan, yup; he definitely looked the type to know exactly where Tim was practicing. Smirking at the back of his head she followed along; football was the same everywhere, she heard the shouts and grunts and yells. The streams of profanity and encouragement; they spoke their own language down on the field, and she wished fiercely that her Father was here. God, he would love this.

But then she caught sight of a purple jersey and the white 33 and the rush of excitement reminded her that she was so very glad her Dad was all the way back in Texas.

"And there is Tim Riggins," she heard the sigh of appreciation in Alan's tone and totally understood. Even hot and sweaty with strands of hair peeking from the back of his helmet he could make you sigh; maybe it was because you knew what was under the padding and helmet. Because what Tim had under the uniform was no doubt what every football fan wants to see when the armor is stripped. A good looking face with a banging body, and he had invited her here, "Thanks Alan," she waved absently to the still staring attendant and walked slowly towards Tim's group.

He was as aggressive and no nonsense a player as he had been when a Panther; good for him. Standing, arms crossed, she watched them run play after play, until even she could anticipate the player's movements and her eyes fell to their spots before their feet took them there.

It had been too damn long since she had been around football, and the mix of nostalgia and arousal was making her lightheaded; or maybe it was just the brutal sunshine. Digging into her bag she pulled the lukewarm bottle of water from her bag, and totally missed Tim's approach.

"Jules, hey," she looked up; saw Tim running towards her helmet in hand and a shit eating grin on his face. Her heart totally skipped a beat.

"Tim, hi, you are looking great," the blush rose up fierce and furious and she would totally blame the heat if he called her out on it; the smirk he sent her she could handle though and let it pass.

As she gathered her thoughts a young boy in full Raven regalia ran up with a towel and two water bottles, Tim took both with a thanks and ruffled the boys' hair; a sweet gesture, the boy left with an ear to ear grin.

"Thanks," she took the offered orange bottle and drank heavily the ice cold water burning her throat and clearing her head.

"Let's walk," she nodded and followed his lead. There were players and coachers that stopped them along the way, with comments or questions; she hung back every time watching him interact with his teammates.

It was fascinating, he was well liked and well respected, and her respect and interest in him grew.

"You always were popular," he looked over at her and she nudged his arm with her elbow, "but that's awesome; really. I cannot tell you how many times I can go days without talking to someone at work."

She tapped her pocket, "my blackberry has been replaced twice because I wear out the keys."

His laughter was contagious, "come on let's see what you've got." She rolled her eyes behind her glasses but followed him over to the group of reporters throwing the football.

"I remember you had a decent arm in Powder puff," he in turn nudged her arm with his elbow; "cost me my victory if I remember correctly."

It was hard to believe he remembered at all, and she began chewing on her lip, her nerves flaring. The group parted as he approached and snatched up the ball, tossing it over his shoulder she caught it with a glare.

So he was going to be like that huh, "really 33 are you sure you want to do this."

She had no idea if she had any accuracy in her arm but she worked out regularly so she knew she could put a little meat behind her toss. Rolling her shoulders she dropped her bag and shook out her arms. The gaggle of bodies circled back around her as he jogged backwards ten yards, the ladies in the group audibly sighed at the smile he gave her.

As the camera lenses trickled her way, she kicked off her shoes, if he was going to put her in the spotlight than she was going to deliver a good show; and he was so paying for it later too.

"Let's see what you got Taylor," he shouted at her and she rolled her eyes, brushing back her hair she ignored everybody and everything else; this was so not how she imagined the afternoon going but she was not about to back down from so blatant a challenge. Recalling everything she had ever heard her Dad coach his QB she squared her shoulders and angled her hips, stepping back into the pocket, she cocked her arm back and sent a beauty shot dead center of the 33 on his chest.

To the hoops and hollers of the crowd he dropped his hands and cradled the ball.

"Nice shot Jules," she grinned and gladly took the next ball handed to her. Again she let a nice shot sail forward and got an even louder applause when he had to run an extra yard to catch it.

Smirking as he ran it back to her she crossed her arms and tipped her head forward to look at him over the rim of her glasses, "Not bad 33 but I wouldn't skip any practices," the crowd behind them hooted behind them and he tossed her the ball with a grin.

"I'll keep that in mind," before the questions could start coming in, and she heard at least one voice ask for her full name, Tim had scooped up her shoes and bag and led her through the crowd.

Arm in arm they moved quickly across the field, "Sorry, they can be up your ass all the time."

"I get it, really, it's not a big deal," but she could see that it was for him. There was a hard set to his jaw, and he had taken her arm as they walked, and was nearly dragging her along behind him.

As they hit the concrete tunnel leading to the locker rooms, his cleats echoed noisily and she tugged on his arm, "Tim, wait, slow down."

Her feet were bare and the surface was hot and she hopped from foot to foot, not watching where she was going she collided into his back, he had stopped so suddenly.

"Hot," he looked over at her and down at her feet and dropped her sandals, using his arm for support she stepped into them, "Thanks."

They stood there, he still had a death grip on her bag and a clenched jaw and she wasn't sure what the hell was going on, she had thought things were going well.

Her bag slipped from his fingers and to the ground silently, she would have worried about its contents if she had been able to tear her eyes away from his. The green and gold had turned dark, intense, and she realized that they were completely alone, completely hidden from the action on the field and she took a deep breath.

Sweat and sun and Tim slid into her lungs.

If maybe he had said something or made some sort of sign that he was going to do what he was going to do she might have been better prepared; might have handled it with more grace and maturity. But he didn't and she hadn't; he simply stepped up to her lifting his hands to her face, he slid her glasses up her face until they sat on top of her head and slowly deliberately cupped her cheeks in his rough palms and her mouth opened, a gasp of shock-excitement-fear, slipped out and right against his lips.

They kissed, in the tunnel, concrete all around, his warmer and softer than they looked lips pressed against hers; his water cooled tongue took advantage of her gaps and slid against hers.

It was an intimate thing, their tastes mingled; he was mint and orange and yum; and a part of her now. Her panties soaked as she thought of how she would carry the taste of him with her for the rest of the afternoon.

One of his hands had slipped from her face to her waist and at the first touch of his fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt the feel of him overwhelmed her.

Hard against her soft; her fingers curled in his jersey and she cursed the layers of padding and protection.

"God," there were no more words, his lips were even softer and warmer now that there were against her throat; her head fell back against the wall, when they had moved back against it, she had no idea.

"I've been wanting to taste this spot," his tongue slid across her collarbone, "right there," he indulged again; holy fucking shit, apparently there were words.

Her fingers slid into his hair, and she tugged, hard, when he his licks became nips, there was only so much she was willing to do in public; but for him she was seriously reconsidering.

"Tim," he must have heard something in her voice because he laughed into her neck.

"I know Taylor, I know," what he thought he knew she wasn't sure but she nodded anyway as he straightened, her fingers slid from his hair and rested around his neck.

"Hi," he grinned at her, dropping a kiss to her nose, she sighed, "hi."

She supposed they hadn't had a proper introduction. That kind of greeting though was one she could totally get behind in the future.

"Were you planning on checking out the Harbor tonight?" thoughts were not too quick to come, he was distractingly playing with her hair and sort of exploring the back of her neck with his fingers and it was driving her all kinds of distracted.

"Uh huh," he smirked, she let him.

"How about I take you out tonight," he probably knew all kinds of cool places to go, and she would use the iron and everything.

All she managed was an OK but then his fingers had moved to her scalp and her eyes had closed in response, she probably would have agreed to anything at that point. He was as good with those hands and she had imagined.

"How about you shut up and kiss me again," where that had come from she had no idea, but yay for her.

He laughed loud and long and one eye peeked open to see him toss his head back to do so, "Yes ma'am."

And he did just that.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to those who have been reviewing it's good to know that I am not totally off base with this fic. This is a slightly shorter chapter but I was eager to post it, I'll try to get the next one a bit longer. Please have fun with Tim and Julie and let me know what you think.

* * *

Dinner was a much more relaxed affair than she had anticipated, especially given the complications of the food involved. Oysters and mussels were messy on their own, but when you factor in the picking of blue crabs, that took interactive to a whole new level.

Tim had been patient with her, had not laughed much at her careful selection of every piece of edible meat; he was a good teacher.

Huh, it was a wonder she got any part of the meal down, her nerves being what they were.

After their impromptu 'hellos' in the tunnel, she had lingered back on the field for another half hour. His commitments to the team and press had not afforded them any more privacy, but she had indulged in her newest hobby; Tim watching.

Not a bad way to pass the time. Only the time had been interrupted every time she licked her lips or caught him staring at her, and memories of wandering lips and hands took over her brain.

Heading back to the hotel, more than a little grateful for the blaring air conditioning in the cab she had managed to rationalize the whole incident as adrenaline and heat. The affects of a hot work out and the saucy moment of tossing the football were to blame for the stolen moments; they had to be.

Nothing, nothing, could come of whatever it was they were up to. Her check out was pushed back a day but that meant only leaving Thursday rather than Wednesday. Not enough time to maybe, potentially, pursuing any more stolen moments.

Her resolve in the cab had not prevented her from soaking in the tub, shaving every bit of skin that had been ignored all summer, and checking the clock every ten minutes.

Forcing herself to work had been a good distraction; she ordered a cool lunch from room service and managed to work out an outline and rough draft for her article. Just because her thoughts wandered every once in a while was no excuse not to be productive, she was an educated woman with responsibilities and she would not forget that.

She still Googled him during dessert. 'Tim Riggins' was apparently a popular name to search and boy were there some special sites out there dedicated to him. Ignoring the fan girly pages she check out and poured over his stats and then went on to the local paper the Baltimore Sun for a more intimate look at their star fullback.

Maryland loved this Texan, and that was in spite of the fact that he was from Texas; the long standing feud between Washington and Dallas had spilled over in Charm City. And Tim loved being in the NFL.

After she had exhausted her search, random facts were floating in her head that she had no business knowing; she sat back and absorbed what she had learned. She broke it down into three; with her Father he had become a man, at Oklahoma he had learned discipline, Baltimore had made him a grown-up.

It was good to know, she was glad she now knew it, but it still didn't change anything about their situation or where they were heading with it. At least that was what she attempted to talk herself into as she got dressed. She would keep a friendly distance between them, not to repeat that mornings aberrations was also key; she was determined she could handle this.

Tim though hadn't helped the situation. He had only knocked once, yeah, she had been waiting by the door, the smirk fully in place the second the door swung open; his eyes had boldly flicked over the length of her, "hello."

The waggle of his eyebrows and the obnoxious whistle immediately pissed her off and set her mind at ease, "whatever," he had laughed at her irritation and stepped into her personal space.

Too close, too good looking, her resolve to maintain a careful, but friendly distance evaporated the second he touched her; a whisper of his thumbs against her arms and she was done for.

Needless to say the hello kiss part two had been as remarkable as she had remembered and they had barely made it to the restaurant on time to keep their reservations.

Phillip's was a Maryland institution and with its fresh menu and great view of the water the hour and a half they spent lingering over their food flew by.

"Where to now?" arm in arm they had walked to the edge of the harbor, he had promised not to let her fall in as she looked over and down into the Chesapeake Bay.

"You mind walking?" she had worn the only heels she traveled with, a pair of black two inch heels with tiny bows on the toes, they wouldn't have been her first choice in footwear for a walk but they were broken in enough to manage.

"Sure," they chatted as they walked, if he noticed the looks he was getting he didn't mention it. She noticed though and automatically smoothed down her bangs. Not too skilled in fixing her hair, at least not with Tyra standing over her shoulder, she simply pulled it back to the base of her neck, set it off to one side and wrapped several locks around the rubber band. Simple and effective, her best friend would have been proud.

Tim however had one upped her; had in fact shown up in jeans, which annoyed her at first since she had in fact broken out the iron, but they were dark and free of rips or tears, and he was wearing a dark sport coat. She had forgiven him solely on the fact that he wore a button down shirt in a color she never would have pictured him in; eggplant, maybe a shade lighter, but boy could he rock the purple.

"I decided to stay an extra day," she felt his eyes on her, but kept her own firmly on the water, "convinced my editor to let me stay, I have this whole new angle I want to work on for my article and he bought it, so, well," the words that had come out in such a rush abandoned her.

This time though she was not going to be a high school ninny.

"Tomorrow I want to do the tourist thing for real," she stole a look over at him, pleased that she had his complete attention, "Fort McHenry in the morning and the Aquarium in the afternoon," there, all said and done and she hadn't stuttered once.

Whatever he was thinking she couldn't figure it out from the absent look he was giving the rising tower over her shoulder; he took his sweet time sharing it with her too.

"There's a banquet tomorrow night, another meet and greet, but there will be food and stuff," totally at a loss her mouth had opened and then closed shut just as fast, "we would have to be back by seven to be there by eight," he shrugged, "unless you need more time to get ready.

Whoa; her brain was flipping through his words and assumptions and invitations and sorting them out.

He had managed to invite himself along on her excursion, which she could admit now she had been totally fishing for, but had somehow managed to rope her into a work thing; a banquet.

Shit, backing out now would make her look like a total chicken and she had been fishing for his company in the daytime, and it was for her work thing, so it was only fair that she reciprocate and do his work thing.

"Yeah, um an hour should be enough time," holy freaking hell, what had she gotten herself into?

"Alrighty then," looking ever so much like the cat that ate the proverbial canary he grinned, "I don't know how early a start we'll make," her eyebrows raised, he smirked, "the place we're going is not going to be somewhere you are going to want to leave in time for curfew Taylor."

"Hell yeah!" the band finished their set and ambled off the stage. Behind her Tim chuckled, his hands dropping to her waist; he pulled her flush against his chest and she went with a smile.

"They were pretty awesome," she shouted over the din of the still excited crowd, he nodded in agreement.

"You want a drink?" she sure needed one.

"Yeah," there was no need to shout anymore the crowd had calmed, they made their way over to the bar.

Her bottle of water half disappeared in one long drink, she couldn't believe how busy the place was in the middle of the week, and what an incredible concept. Take a factory split the levels into restaurants and clubs, cater to all sorts of preferences and do that while revamping a cool old building.

She was amused; they left the Ram's Head drinks in hand and headed out in pursuit of more distractions. She wanted to dance and told him so; tonight she was going to move, and make him move, she wanted to dance with Tim Riggins.

"What are you doing?" he resisted the tug of her hand. She put a little more force behind the tug and moved him an inch, maybe two.

"I want to dance with you," their drinks had disappeared, she distinctly remembered handing her bottle off to some girl who looked parched but that could have been her own alcohol consumption talking. Water had not been her only choice tonight.

"I don't dance," he managed to get free of her hand and she sauntered onto the dance floor all by herself. Turning towards where Tim still stood she cocked her hip and began to sway to the pulsing beat.

Music made her brave, "That's a shame," she spun away from him, it was a shame to lose the view, they had checked her sweater and his coat ages ago and the heat of the bodies had forced him to roll up his sleeves. She very much liked the arms that were crossed over his chest; he was a menacing sight, all furrowed brow and legs apart.

The music was pulling her in and the liquor had given her courage and she let go. God, she hadn't danced liked this in forever, moths actually, months since she had gone out with Tyra and let loose.

She needed to let loose more often; the beats were getting hard, more intense, her body moved accordingly, and suddenly there were hands on her waist, pulling her up against a chest that was no where near and rock hard as the one she had been pressed against earlier.

'Crap', she looked over her shoulder and saw a random blond guy wagging his eyebrows at her, he was not bad looking, and his hands were in proper club placement, and any other time she might have been flattered, but her escort was so far beyond this guys brand of hot it was funny.

Her mouth opened to tell him that she was taken when his smile faded and his hands dropped, "Sorry man, sorry," her head whipped around and there was Tim, glowering, down at her.

"Tim," the irritation didn't leave his face, and she brushed her bangs out of her face.

"He had his hands on you," he stepped around her, mimicking no names actions and dropped his hands around her waist; she gasped when he yanked her up against him, he dropped his lips to her ear, she could feel his breaths on her skin, "I didn't like it."

Oh my, but she was liking this now, "I'm sorry," she wasn't really, there had been nothing wrong with dancing with that guy and hell it had gotten Tim out here to her, but she said it anyway.

"'Sorry'; sorry isn't enough to get the image out of my head," his voice was rough, every word a strain and her breasts ached and her thighs rubbed uncomfortably together.

He was jealous, or had been jealous, and the whole territory thing was totally turning her on, absolutely. Her hips had begun to sway as the music crept back into their bubble. His curse was low and threatening against her neck, but she didn't heed the warning, her movements got bolder. Her arms raised, reached back and buried themselves into his hair.

There might never be another moment like this and she wanted to live it to its fullest; and lost amongst the press of bodies, the dark and the noise, it was perfect.

"Jules," she never knew what he was pleading for with her name like that on his lips, because he forced a strong thigh between her legs and thrust against her. Rising up on tip toes her back arching; she rode his leg, danced over the denim, turning her head automatically she knew his lips would be waiting and he didn't disappoint.

The taste of him, amplified by the alcohol and lust and jealousy, was as intoxicating as it was arousing.

Over the next half hour they were positively indecent; it was a fact though, Tim Riggins was a pretty great dancer when he had the right motivation.


	5. Chapter 5

I wanted to update sooner, I really did, but my muse was bitter for reasons beyond my control. I hope those who read this like this chapter, I had a lot of fun with it, so let me know.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?"

Their morning had passed quite nicely, a quick ride to the Fort and a leisurely tour had been just what the doctor ordered after the late night of drinking and dancing and lest she forget the kissing.

Tim slid his eyes her way, "Shoot." No hesitation, not a worry, but then they were in the food court at the aquarium now, she was munching on over priced French fries and he was sipping on his second large drink; hardly an imposing place for a special moment. His eyes settled on her, ready to hear what she had to say.

Now that she could ask the question she wasn't sure if she wanted to actually do it. Things between them were just so nice. With the flirting and the talking it was just great having someone around that she wasn't sure she wanted to make any more or less of it.

But she was a curious creature, always had been, it was so much of why she made a decent writer. She had questions she wanted answers and maybe others wanted them too.

Stalling for time she picked up another fry and munched on it thoughtfully. The longer she took though the more the words burned in her throat, "Why this," she waved her half eaten fry between them, "why all this time with me doing all this?" her fry swung around in a circle a fine spray of ketchup landed on the white table top between them.

There had been times that she had forgotten that he was not just Tim Riggins but _the_ Tim Riggins and then some brave soul would approach for an autograph or picture and she would remember. And then she would wonder why he was hanging out with her when he could be with pretty much anyone he wanted. Between the talent and the probably money and God the looks he really could have anyone.

Insecurities, never really went away, and yeah she was probably suffering some latent inferiority complex that stemmed from having two highly successful and boisterous personality prone parents. Not to mention how many times she would fall into Tyra's shadow, her best friend was a star that burned very bright at times.

Disgusted she tossed her sagging fry on her plate; Tim arched an eyebrow but said nothing, only sipped at his drink; what a whiny bitch she was turning into. Yuck, she was annoying herself and God only knew what Tim was thinking.

"I like you Taylor," her eyebrows rose; well, she certainly hadn't been expecting that. Snorting she picked up another fry, waiting for his laugh, and when it didn't come she rolled her eyes at him.

"What you think I just go around kissing every girl I run into?" he was a brat and he knew it.

"That is exactly what I think," no, she didn't; not really, but he was teasing her and she didn't like it, but he took no offense, arrogant bastard, simply tossed his head back and laughed.

"Don't get enough sass in my life these days," flabbergasted at his sincerity and more than a little flushed at the twinkle in his eye, she swallowed her bite and reached for her drink.

He was serious, "You're freaking serious," she mumbled, he smirked, she couldn't help it, she was stunned and she knew he knew and still she couldn't care enough to stop staring.

Clearly she was out of her element because she hadn't expected that, but he looked serious enough, had gone back to sipping his drink, giving her time.

"Well-"whatever she had wanted to say she lost it, he looked up at her, and gave her that fucking grin. Totally indecent and her thoughts at that moment were totally inappropriate to their surroundings.

"Taylor," she smirked at him, she really hated that and he knew it, "when you see me it's in the blue and gold and not the purple," her jaw dropped, literally, but he wasn't looking at her, no, his attention was solely on his hands, "that means something."

The tension stretched, there were issues being addressed and ideas being contemplated and she wished she hadn't brought it up, well not really, but maybe not here. While she searched for something, anything, to break the silence, he continued to stare off into space; damn, why hadn't she just kept her mouth shut?

And then, as though a flick had been switched, he turned back to her, the whole of his attention was back on her, and with a smile he spoke, "I always did wear blue the best."

Her smile might not have reached her eyes, and for that she was sorry, he was trying, and that she appreciated, but there was emotion in his voice, names for it she didn't want to clarify, not yet. After all they hardly knew each other and if, when, they parted the less she had to let go of the more hurt she would save herself.

And it would hurt, the sudden rush of it caught her off guard and she blinked back tears.

"What?" Tim had caught her emotion, his concern nearly set her over the edge; but she would not cry in front of him. No freaking way.

Lying wasn't an option, she looked across the table at him, their eyes meeting, no, she didn't want to lie, but she wasn't ready to tell him the whole of the truth.

"Dillon blue always did look good on you," she gave him a watery smile, that he considered for a heartbeat longer than she thought it should take, but then he returned with a smile of his own; he would give her this and for that she was grateful.

Thankfully there had been no more heart to hearts, which she would note in the future not to mix with tourism, but they shared a leisurely walk back through the aquarium.

They parted ways at the Inner Harbor shops; she had to find something appropriate to wear, while her packing skills were commendable, she had not planned for an event of this magnitude.

Whipping out her phone as she strode into the first boutique she came too she blazed through the test messages first, Mom and Tyra for the most part, and then the emails. Her editor wanted her in Olympia this coming weekend, another city, another hotel. Her footsteps halted in front of a rather cute display of skirts she absently flipped through.

While she checked prices and sizes on skirts she had no reason or room to purchase she considered the lack of anything she felt about her newest assignment.

Wait, it wasn't anything she felt, because if she closed her eyes for a fraction of a second longer she would feel the irritation at another flight, the ambivalence towards more concierge service and the absolute dread at spending another dinner alone.

Baltimore was fucking with her head.

She snorted and stepped away from the rack, taking a cute denim thing that would make her Father's head swivel; Tim Riggins was fucking with her head. He had what been in her life for a day, two, and she was going to what, pine over him?

With a muttered, "Hell no," she reassured her troubled work ethic that she would not be abandoning it, she managed to catch sight of herself holding up a rather stunning red cocktail dress and immediately reconsidered her resolve. Tim Riggins just might have the kind of power to upend a girl's life; she returned the red dress and reached for a midnight blue sheath that didn't have such a revealing neckline. But just because he had the power didn't mean she had to succumb to it; or surrender her own.

Holding the blue dress up to her image she grinned at what she knew would be a flattering silhouette. Maybe she could turn up the heat a little, she considered what gold accents she could throw in that would be tasteful yet make him look twice.

And she really, really wanted him to look twice; yes, she decided as she headed into the dressing room to make sure the dress fit in all the right places; she was feeling the devil on her right shoulder and it was calling for some blue and gold tonight.

Ha, Tim Riggins was in for a hell of an evening.

* * *

"Did I mention that you looked beautiful?"

Julie sipped her champagne, wishing not for the first time that it was something stronger, but Street was just being polite, "No, but thank you."

He grinned up at her and eyed her nearly empty glass, "Long night?"

Huh, "long week," she shrugged, "I'm just not used to so many people."

The days of dinners and schmoozing in Dillon were thankfully far behind her, poor Gracie Belle had to carry that particular mantle, but she would pay her dues just like her big sister had.

"What?"

"Nothing, just remembering many an evening spent like this at a booster event," Jason chuckled, their eyes drifting beyond the crowded room. Jason Street had been an unexpected and pleasantly surprising face to see tonight. She had had no idea that Tim had hired Street on as business manager, but then it made all kinds of sense.

Jason and Tim were Street and Riggins, they had always imagined getting to this place someday, and if Jason had not taken the stairs this evening it hardly mattered; they were both still here and she was proud of Tim for it.

Well not that Jason hadn't made himself and Tim very, very wealthy as a result of his business deals and investments, at least that was what she had taken from their smart mouthed ribbing. Boys were after all still boys no matter what they were wearing; and Tim wore his deep blue suit extremely well.

Blue it seemed had been the color of the evening.

And yes Tim had just about let his eyes fall from his head after he took a long look at her outfit once she opened the door to her suite. Seconds before she was fairly certain he was going to barge in, throw her over his shoulder and make a bee line for the bed, she ducked under the arm he had extended to the door frame for support, and headed down the hall.

Oh, yes, she had made quite the impression; but then so had he.

"You look nice tonight," his eyebrow had risen at her compliment.

"Didn't think I could clean up?" she had sworn his accent had gone just a bit more Texas and her knees locked together.

"Oh, I figured you could, just not that you would for me," her nose had gone up and her head had turned towards the darkening city passing by the cab.

"There isn't much I wouldn't do for you Taylor," sure enough, once the muttered words had registered, her jaw had dropped; and before she could question him about it, they had arrived at the meet and greet.

Tim had been whisked away by the team's publicist, offering her an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he went. She had been grateful for his disappearance, had immediately gone in search of the bar, disappointed that it was only serving the light stuff; the harder choices would be offered once the players went off record.

Strong alcohol and observant reporters were not a great combination.

"You know he's never brought anyone to something like this," jolted from her thoughts she looked back at Jason.

"Really," she found it sweet of him to say, even if she didn't believe it, "I find it very hard to believe."

Jason laughed, "I know it sounds crazy, but he didn't want anyone getting any kind of ideas that he didn't put there himself," Street shrugged, "a person in his position has to be very careful, and you wouldn't have thought it back then, but Tim is a very careful person."

She knew he had to be and again that sadness stole away her breath.

Across the room she watched Tim make a grey haired man laugh and she smiled, "I'm flattered."

Jason snorted and she looked down, her eyes rolling of their own accord, "you're smitten."

Smitten? Smitten, who the hell said that anymore, "am not."

Jason just laughed and took her empty glass she followed him to the bar and accepted her refill with a smile.

"In a weird way it makes so much sense, I mean you are you and he is well Tim," he studied her and she was sure she was blushing, "and yeah it makes all kind of sense."

The emotion that rolled over her wasn't sadness this time; longing maybe, excitement, but then reality hit.

"I'm leaving soon, I'll be out of his life at the end of the week," Olympia beckoned, "he'll go back to his life and me to mine."

"Ah, the exciting life of the travel writer," there was none of the mocking the words would have indicated, he sounded genuinely piqued by her career choice, "that is one hell of a cool job Julie."

The admiration meant a lot, hell he was Jason Street, which meant even more now than it did back in Dillon. Jason had found her by the entrance still stammering after Tim's revelation and they had caught up quickly.

So successful had his handling of Tim's finances been, that some of the other Ravens had signed on to be a Street man and Jason had apparently created quite the empire.

Tim had returned and they had bantered and before she could corner her fullback he had pressed a kiss to her cheek, which she could still feel, and slipped back to meet his obligations.

Jason had not missed the exchange but had only raised an eyebrow and handed her a fresh drink. God, the East Coast was going to make her into a lush.

"When is there going to be food?" Jason looked down at his watch at her question.

"Soon, there's about ten minutes before the press is out of time and the investors can get the last of their photos, and then there will be food," Jason pointed towards the closed double doors on the north wall, "lots of it. They learned after a particularly disastrous affair involving bite sized portions and some type of tofu based product."

She laughed imagining the defensive line trying to fill up on those items.

"Turns out the tofu on hand was pretty damn good, too good for the sizes they were offering and a small argument erupted and well let's just say the event organizers learned a valuable lesson," they shared another laugh.

"What did I miss?" Julie felt a warm hand slide around her waist and she gasped, certainly not used to being touched and definitely not by someone who made her heart jump up in triple time.

"Just filling Julie in on the tofu incident," Tim chuckled behind her, still too close and warm and smelling damn good.

And when did he get the right to manhandle her in such a public faction, "You hungry?"

His lips went behind her ear for the words, pausing only for a second and pressing a kiss to the skin there so quickly it could only have been caught by a camera and Street who couldn't keep his eyes off of them, "Uh, yeah," speech was good.

Her thoughts were jumbled though and her knees wobbly, stupid bubbles, but then it wasn't the champagne that made her legs jelly, it was Tim and she knew it and he knew it and she was pretty sure Jason knew it and that was why he had the right to manhandle her; because she loved it.

"Me too," she nearly groaned, Jason was laughing and Tim had tightened that arm around her waist; if he kept this up and if she didn't stop him, there was no way she was going to be able to not jump him in front of very important Baltimore people.

"OK you two get a room or get a grip," Tim cursed behind her as Jason rammed him in the leg with the bottom of his chair.

Thankful for the intervention if not so much the violence, she stepped away and swept her hair over her shoulder; they announced that dinner was served a moment later.

Sharing a look with Tim, his eyes were still too dark to be decent in public, she took his hand anyway when he offered it and they made their way behind Jason and into dinner.

* * *

There had been more dancing for her tonight, more alcohol, and lots more fun.

"What are you thinking?"

She felt Tim move up behind her, closing the distance her feet had put between them; she couldn't stay away from the water. At every chance she was drawn to the harbor and the calmly lapping water against the concrete made her sway.

"I'm thinking I love the water here," his hands slid around her waist and she leaned back against his chest, "I'm thinking that there is going to be special place in my heart for this city now."

She was thinking all of those things and more; it was some kind of ungodly hour and they were wandering the Inner Harbor and she had work to do and packing to start. None of that mattered; that was what she was really thinking about.

"I have things to do, places to get ready to be," she looked up, his chin was not as revealing as she would have liked, "but I am thinking I want to stay right here," there, his head tilted and she found his eyes and they were more than forthcoming.

"Me too Jules," he pressed a kiss to her forehead, "you're checking out tomorrow?"

Nodding, she closed her eyes, pressing her face into the collar of his shirt, she indulged in the emotions the alcohol had shook loose and wished terribly they wouldn't have to stay good bye.

"How much time do you have until your next check in?"

Thinking was difficult thoughts were normally not hard to come by, her head was never still and hardly ever muddled; but Tim muddled her thoughts and brought stillness to her thinking that was disconcerting.

Focusing helped, the deep breath a bit more, "Uh, Saturday morning I have to fly into Washington, the hotel is in Olympia," the Pacific Northwest was one of her favorite spots to travel through and while it was normally a bright spot spending time there, when she was no doubt going to be wishing she were elsewhere, did not sound appealing.

"Can you give me until then?" she stilled.

Tim wanted her to stay with him until the weekend?

"There is something I want to show you. Some place actually."

She wanted too, she really did, and that was almost as shocking as his invitation. Turning in his arms she pushed his hair back from his face, she wanted to see him clearly. He looked sincere, maybe nervous, she couldn't tell and that frustrated her.

"I'm done with team stuff, got a couple of free days earned," he shrugged, her silence was making him nervous and that simply decided it for her.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she rose up on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his; they were warm and she imagined what they feel liked against her throat and breast, pulling away before she got carried away, she smiled up at him, and "I would love to."

Tim grinned, a full on heart breaking smile that made her toes curl, and she knew in that split second that before the next twenty four hours were up she was going to have sex with Tim Riggins.

'Oh boy.'


	6. Chapter 6

I am terrible I know. Forgive me? I hope this is worth the wait for those still reading. Please let me know if it works for you.

Her picture consumption was a thing to behold. A crap load of pictures could fit on her memory card and she had never tested that claim before; not until that morning. Packing up her things she took the obligatory shots of her room, carefully taking shots of the awesome bathroom and the nice view from the window.

Checking out had been a breeze, she hadn't run into Tim in the lobby, not that she had been looking for him –_liar_- there was the run through of the bar and the lobby, she hit the store and café as well. If she was taking more time and effort she blamed it on her care and concern for her job.

A half hour into her picture taking quest outside she gave up on that idea and admitted that she loved her stay here for all the reasons not pertaining to work and she wanted these pictures so she would not forget a place or a moment.

"Having fun?" the voice was so close to her ear she jumped in place, spinning around her hands rose and she snapped the picture reflexively.

"I am now," she took frame after frame of Tim; Tim smirking, Tim smiling, Tim attempting to snatch the camera from her.

"Hey!" she tried and failed to retrieve her equipment only to be met with flashes in her face. Her blush burst across her cheeks, she couldn't remember the last time she had been in a candid photo. It was pathetic and she couldn't wait to rip them to her pc and see how they turned out.

He teased her with the camera until she knew her face was bright red and finally relented when they drew eyes their way.

"Sorry about that," he led her away from the onlookers, his face, having been full of smirks and smiles, was all business now.

"It's no big deal," she tried to sound reassuring. Tim was a celebrity, strange as it sounded to her still, and everything he did, would do in public would be seen and perhaps recorded and more than likely judged.

"I think it is," he sounded so serious.

"Tim," she turned abruptly, he stopped only just and a crash was averted, he looked down at her, clearly irritated. Ha! She knew that irritated look, remembered it from school days, whether it was Landry or Lyla, he had worn that irritation as big and brightly as he damned well pleased.

Well she was not going to be bowled over by an irritated male, not any irritated male, most especially not this one, who was being completely ridiculous.

"We were having fun right?" the question caught him off guard, putting him on guard.

He nodded, she smirked, "Right, so you interrupted our fun, for what some curious glances," she waved her hand in his face, loving that he was finally registering her irritation with him.

"And that is not cool," she crossed her arms and let the words sink in.

He sure took his sweet time letting them settle. Rocking back on his heels, which she noticed for the first time were glad in well worn boots, swallowing back the detail she forced her eyes back up to his face which was still considering her words.

"So you are irritated not that we had an audience, but that I what, ended the moment," the words were clumsily put together but were in the general vicinity of her thought, so she nodded.

He shook his head, "you are something else Taylor," Tim laughed, an honest to God laugh, and she smiled, not quite sure what to do with an amazed Tim Riggins. Baffling him was a good thing, the last thing she wanted to be was predictable and hopefully he would get that she wasn't intimidated by the life that had come as a result of his talent.

She wasn't sure why that should matter, it wasn't as if she would there would be much need for the understanding after this weekend, but, and it was the 'but' that had her gnawing on her lip, something could change.

"Come on then, we've got a drive ahead of us," her excitement bubbled up, she still had no idea where they were going or for what reason.

"Are you going to give me anything?" he smirked at her.

She blushed, her moment of poise and confidence evaporated in the face of that smirk, "I mean details; where are we going?"

Tim shook his head; taking her right hand in his left he tugged her along, "Sorry Jules I got nothing for you."

Pouting she deliberately slowed her steps as he led them back to the lobby of the hotel. Grinning at the back of his head when he glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at her; whatever was coming she was pretty sure she was going to have a hell of a time.

Tim was driving too fast. He knew it, she knew it, and she hadn't said a word about it. Well she had opened her mouth too, she could admit that, but he had smirked over at her, his left elbow draped lazily out the open window, long distracting fingers taping against his chin drawing more attention to the twist of his lips.

Well she certainly wasn't going to say it if he knew she was going to say something and had all but dared her to say it out loud. So she had kept her mouth shut even as the needle had climbed steadily topping off a little past an eyebrow raise but before a gasp.

She could deal with that.

Besides the beast that he drove could handle it. When they had finally left the hotel and the valet had pulled around in the pick up truck she had in fact laughed, noisily and loudly. Tim had simply shrugged and led her to the passenger door.

Unfortunately she had needed help getting in which irritated her, there was no good reason for tires to be that big or the struts to be jacked up quite that high. Tim had been quick to give her a boost, which she appreciated, and if his hands lingered on her ass for an extra heartbeat, well, she was flattered. So her feelings towards the beast had thawed even as her body temperature had risen.

Flattered was a good word. It was respectable and classy and she was so full of crap. His palms had landed on her butt and she had almost stumbled back out of the cab. She needed to get a serious grip.

Her bumbling and fumbling was possibly the most annoying trait she had developed since her arm crossing stage in high school; but he was Tim freaking Riggins and the whole touching thing was overwhelming.

Gathering up her hair, no small feat given the windows were down and the wind was wreaking havoc, she twisted it as best she could and pinned it up in a messy bun. No doubt it would be undone in fifteen minutes but her neck was instantly cooler and she sighed in pleasure.

They had been driving for an hour a little more, she knew they were still in Maryland, had marveled appropriately at the Bay Bride, which was a Grand Old Lady; but she was still in the dark as to their ultimate destination.

"Are we close?"

The question was more of a shout, the Metallica was blaring and the air was screaming.

"It's not far," rolling her eyes she recognized the non answer and grouped it under the Tim trait folder that was ever varied and growing.

They had stopped for gas and drinks not too far past the Bay Bridge and he had insisted she get something. Like twisted her arm into a drink and some chips and an apple and the bright red pen at the register she had picked up to simply look at. Tim was generous and protective and it was sweet; sweet and totally hot.

At last they turned right. Her excitement was growing; the truck headed on as stores and houses became flat stretches of land. Farms and trees and condominiums; it was an interesting combination.

One more right hand turn, up a non-descript lane, that bore no archway, like people tended to do back home on the big properties, or even a street sign, like most people tended to do everywhere. No, there was a well worn gravel road and the truck bounced happily along, she glared over at the driver after one particularly painful bump and he grinned.

"I'll get to the road eventually."

Somehow she knew it would be the last upgrade, he very much looked liked he was enjoying the ride, and then, probably only at the insistence of someone else who might drive on the road frequently. The thought of someone else and Tim in the same sentence made her stomach flip when it should have flopped and she pushed it away. She would not think about that, not when she knew their time had an expiration date, the plane was booked and the reservations made, and she had known that when she accepted.

So thinking about the future, or lack thereof, was pointless.

Swallowing thickly she avoided her thoughts and put her eyes back out the window. The landscape had thrown them in the middle of the forest, a surprise when she was fairly certain they were headed towards the water, and then the truck broke through the tree line and she gasped.

It was incredible, beautiful, unbelievable, all this she mumbled to him as she sat up in her seat trying to get as close to the sight as she could. Tim had chosen well, very well; the land ahead of them crested upwards, giving no view of the river but she knew it was there, she could hear the wildlife, she could taste the water, and he had plopped his house right down on the top of the hill.

Exactly where she would have put it, exactly the way she would have designed it.

Bypassing the detached garage he drove right up to the front door and she didn't wait for his help before jumping out and heading up the front porch steps.

"Does the porch wrap around?"

Tim took the stairs slowly his feet stopping before the top step.

"Yeah and almost all the way on the second floor," indulgent and amazing and she was in love with the Victorian beauty. It was surreal; it was as though Tim had plucked the blueprints straight from her head; from the whitewashed blue siding to the stained glass front door it was eerie.

He moved the rest of the way up the stairs and fiddled with the front door handle, trying to get the key in the lock, "come on I'll give you a tour."

Afternoon was fading, evening was approaching and she knew it was later than it looked. The summer sun misleading, but she felt the hour in her bones, in the lazy blinking of her eyes.

Tim had filled the afternoon with sights and sounds and she was grateful for a moment to simply sit.

After the quick run through of the unfinished house, there was not a stick of furniture in the house; there was a finished master bath and running water, and gratefully the hot water heater had just last week been hooked to the rather complicated sounded energy source.

J it seemed had convinced Tim to invest in solar panels that worked in combination with the local prevalent power sources and how that all worked together she didn't know, but she did know that there was hot water for a shower and for that she was grateful.

Tim had pulled her away from the second floor balcony and forced her on the back of a bright red ATV. Positively scandalized at how high her skirt rode, she ignored as best she could his eyes as they scanned the long line of her leg and concentrated on tying up her hair. Finally, after he got his fill of her blush and legs, he swung his leg over and plopped down in front of her.

"You better hold tight," his whisper was all the warning she had gotten; her scream was lost under the rev of the engine.

Like a bat out of hell they took off, trekking across a wide expanse of his seventy plus acres, she drank in the beauty of the land and the pride in his voice as he pointed out something or the other. Sharing with her how he had stumbled across the land in the first place and what he had in store for much of the untouched land.

Part of her wished she didn't know, wished he hadn't been so open about things. What was the point of it all? Perhaps he had sensed her discomfort or maybe she hadn't kept her thoughts off her face, but he had abruptly switched gears and driven them to the boat house.

"Got to work for your supper here," she had raised an eyebrow at that. Envisioning activities that her Dad had threatened to drag her to if she did not come to the occasional football practice.

Her relief had been monumental though when he had dragged crab pots into the sleek thirty foot boat; there had been water and bait and a hunt she could get entirely behind.

The crab pot was boiling; she had made a face at the potatoes and corn that had been tossed unceremoniously into the pot alongside the crabs. As he dumped an ungodly amount of Old Bay in he assured her that around here that was how it was done and to 'trust him'.

Sitting back in the too comfortable for outside furniture lawn chair she considered her trust of him; and she did trust him. Enough to fall off the grid, to postpone work, to eat corn out of a pot; she trusted him a lot.

She also had mad love for his back yard, although 'back yard' seemed such a mundane term for the grounds beyond his back door.

Landscaping had been done immediately once the house had been built; a pool had been installed large enough to swim a substantial lap, tucked away in a corner was a Jacuzzi that she had been eying since their return. Beyond the Jacuzzi were a burst of plants and a maze of flowers that yielded herbs and vegetables. She had teased him about that, but he had shrugged, had told her that a garden without something edible seemed like a waste. She couldn't argue with that logic and was surprised at how excited she was to try the salad tossed with ingredients plucked right in front of her.

The patio was stone, a dark and distressed gray she would have totally picked, and should you follow it beyond the pool, opposite the Jacuzzi you would end up in the mother of all gazebos. More like an extra room, the combination kitchen-dining-lounge was straight out of a magazine centerfold. Only one side had a finished wall, the elaborate grill, discrete fridge, and accompanying sink had been built in; fabric drapes could be opened and tied down if you wanted privacy.

A spot that could easily become a favorite, she made a mental note to add the design into her building plans.

Without any help from her, she had offered and he had declined, Tim had thrown their meal together and left it simmering on the grill. Handing her a beer he had sent her off to find a seat and she had plopped down in the closest seat that allowed her legs to stretch out.

Her view afforded a nice peak at the garden the pool and him.

Tim was setting the table, an entirely domestic and adorable activity; even if it was only with paper plates and towels. No dishes yet, she had no idea what they were going to do about breakfast, there might be more in the way of provision in the silver airstream trailer that sat behind the garage. The close confines had given her a start, but then it was preferable to sleeping on the ground.

Blue fabric reached for the river, interrupting her close study of Tim, he hadn't bothered to tie back the drapes after she had squealed in delight when they wrapped around her.

It was like a four poster bed whose canopy had gone made, he had laughed at the description, and if his eyes had darkened she hadn't minded.

Gardens surrounded them, a private meal and an intimate swim were not out of the question; blushing she turned her eyes from him to the fountain to her left. Incredible work and attention to detail had gone into every aspect of her surroundings and she admired every bit of it.

Who knew Tim Riggins was capable of creating something so very beautiful.

"It's amazing you know," she was still staring at the fountain, but she felt his eyes turn her way, "the house, the land, this," she waved her hand at everything around them.

Tilting her head back towards him she smiled, "I love it."

The words slipped out without permission. She would have looked away if his eyes would have allowed it, but Tim had a lock on her with his eyes, the curve of his lips, and the rustle of fabric as he moved, stalked, towards her.

He was sin in jeans and boots, the t-shirt he wore was a faded Ravens promo tee, the purple was so his color; and he was moving intently towards her, immediately she thought of how his hand would feel against her bare legs, his thumbs would press just so under the curve of her breast.

And then she didn't have to imagine it anymore, because he was there, right fucking there in front of her, catching each of her bare feet in a hand he yanked, she yelped; sliding towards him awkwardly.

All thoughts of plants and meals and simply everything ended because he was there and his fingers were scratching their way up her calves, "Tim," she groaned at the special attention paid to the backs of her knees.

Scandalous, positively and absolutely scandalous, she blinked, making out his very intent expression staring intently down at her; dark eyes, serious expression, he looked as grown up as she had ever seen Tim Riggins. He tilted his head just a fraction, a slight movement to the left, it was all the warning she had.

He dragged her the short distance to the edge of the lounge chair, her skirt bunching completely around her waist, he gasp lost under the moan as his devious fingers slid across her thighs.

Real and real and hot and where her underwear went she didn't know.

"God," her legs were yanked apart he rocked against her once, hard, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against her clit shot fire through her.

"Fuck," before she could process the rough assault he had dropped to his knees before her; bewildered she watched him watch her, the smirk was there, bright, familiar, and she could only gape at him in return.

"Tim," the single syllable was drawn out, lasting heartbeats, her eyes rolled up in her head, unable to see she simply felt. Tongue and teeth and calloused fingers, God damn, it felt so fucking good. He was demanding, nipping at her clit, biting at her thigh, sliding fingers two knuckles deep until she bucked up against him.

Overwhelmed, unprepared and so fucking ready to come; nothing had ever been like this, nothing had even come close. Forcing her eyes open, the sky above was a deep purple, the purple of his shirt, him, she looked down; he peeked up just as she did, fucking grinned at her around the bite he was taking out of the softest skin on her body.

Her right hand rose slipping into his hair and she gripped it; hard.

He chuckled, fucking laughed as his tongue slid in her pussy, rude and delicious and so fucking hot. Her profanity was cresting; she was so god damn close.

Tim knew she was there, he felt it could taste it, she was certain of it, his thumb his mean and tortuous and wonderful thumb pressed just so and scraped just right and-

-electricity, vision sharpened and breathing stopped and life swelled as every nerve ending woke up.

Over and under and through it she rode it, the pain, the pleasure, and it felt so good, so freaking good. Collapsing against the cushion, her eyes falling shut, the star bursts behind her eyelids made her smile.

Lazily she ran her fingers through his hair, she was very aware of the smile against her thigh, the soft kiss that followed.

"Well that was one hell of an appetizer," his words were muffled wonderfully by her _skin_, she chuckled, the blush was beginning to creep up her neck, but she didn't care. Tim Riggins had just given her the best orgasm ever with teeth and tongue and she would more than likely die of embarrassment later, but right now she felt too good to worry or care about his smart assed comment.

The lethargy draining in the split second it took for her to comprehend his words she tugged on his hair until he looked up, chin resting on her leg, her words faltered, but he winked at her and she found her resolve rolling her eyes she blew her bangs out of her eyes.

Drumming up the haughtiest voice she could she pursed her lips at him, "it was passable," his eyebrows rose in disbelief, "it does however make me very interested in the main course," his smirk was promising, she was on a roll, "and quite curious about dessert."

His laughter warmed her. She had no idea what the hell she was doing, what they were doing, but the warmth was welcoming, and she really was hungry.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm terrible, I know and I'm so sorry. My muse has abandoned me for thoughts of Star Trek and Jim Parsons. Anyway I come with yum and hot and I hope that makes up for it. Please let me know what you think. I own nothing and mean no harm.

* * *

Within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm had appeared out of nowhere. One moment they were strolling along the river bank, walking parallel to the house and the next the skies had opened and the rain had begun to fall.

"We better run for it!" Tim shouted at her over the pounding rain, taking the hand he offered she nodded and they set off towards the nearest shelter.

Up the slope towards the gardens she could make out the lights that were strung over the grill and prayed they made it before any lightning managed to find them. The last few feet she was fairly certain he had dragged as much as she had run and they made it under cover just as tremendous clap of thunder pealed through the sky.

With a yelp she jumped and collided with his back; he turned without hesitation and she found strong arms wrapping around her and she didn't think, just buried her face in his neck. It was such a sweet gesture, so unbelievably romantic, that every romantic bone in her body was squealing and some of the more cynical ones as well.

"These summer storms can sneak up on unannounced," his words were a low rumble against her chest and she shivered. He pulled back, she saw the concern in his eyes, and smiled.

"You're cold," it was a statement and not one she could refute, and she watched as he dashed back out in the rain, a protest building and dying when he disappeared behind the structure.

Wrapping her arms about herself she looked out at the river, night had descended slowly, as the summer day had fought to keep the sun shining and for that she had been grateful. She didn't want the day to end. She didn't want it to be one day closer to the day she would have to leave.

And she wasn't sure she was ready to face what else the night would bring her closer to besides departure.

At the terrible sound of something scraping against the stone patio she jumped and turned with wide eyes she watched Tim drag something into their shelter. The 'something' he showed her with a huge grin was a chimney, one of those awesome ones made of terra cotta and covered in cool designs.

Of course Tim's was the biggest one she had ever seen and she couldn't quite believe he had dragged it all by himself. Looking at him as he bent and opened one of the cabinets next to the sink, she could hear him muttering to himself, but was too distracted by the tight pull of his muscles beneath his shirt, his soaking wet shirt, to pay closer attention.

Immediately she discovered that she was soaking wet, soaking freaking wet everywhere; watching as his more than capable hands tossed some of those fire logs you buy in the grocery store into the chimney and toss a match in after some crumpled up newspaper, her thoughts drifted back to when those hands had been more than efficient at starting a raging fire in her.

God, now she was thinking like a cheesy romance novel.

"You alright there Taylor?" startled she focused her attention back on Tim, finding him standing before her with a Panther sized smirk on his face.

"Yes, of course, just cold," she shivered appropriately and his smirk deepened, clearly unconvinced by her performance.

Looking over his shoulder at the fire that was beginning to catch she cooed and moved around him and stuck her hands out close. The warmth was instantaneous and she felt the moisture evaporation on her palms. Behind her Tim was dragging the largest of the dining chairs over and she glanced over her shoulder as he dropped dramatically onto it.

Her eyebrow rose at the patting motion he made onto rain soaked thighs, thought briefly about the discomfort of wet denim, and promptly dismissed them. Settling onto his lap with as much grace as could muster, she settled back against his chest.

"I love fires," she spoke without thinking and his chuckle brought out an eye roll, but she clarified, "growing up, there was no fireplace in the house, and now well, there are very few places that rent rooms that include the ability to cause an open flame."

"You know there are several up in the house," her breath caught, she didn't like to think about that house, perfect and wonderful and fucking amazing house. She didn't want to think about how similar it was in every way to the house of her dreams, with its porches and views and now fireplaces; of course there had to be fireplaces.

"We can build a fire up there after the first cold snap," and this time her reaction was far more noticeable, a sharp gasp, that drew her eyes to his. He was serious.

She didn't know what to do with that, so she stared at him as he stared at her, and sensing her confusion Tim shrugged a lazy shoulder. The mood broke, she might not know what to do with his serious words, but neither did Tim, and that was OK.

Time slipped by, they spoke just loud enough to cover the rain and crackling fire, Tim could tell a story; and boy did he have lots of them. She especially liked the one about Smash and a jellyfish during a Pro Bowl publicity event.

Hawaii was as beautiful as one would imagine. It occurred to her then just how much traveling he did. What with the team and training and his obligations in the off season, he must be on the road nearly as much as she was. He got what it was like to live days on end out of a suitcase.

This she told him with wide eyes, "You just get it."

Something so significant she couldn't keep the emotion from her voice, and quite frankly she didn't want to. Tim couldn't keep the emotion out of his movements.

Without a word of warning he hitched his arms under her legs and stood. Scrambling to cling to his neck, she squealed as the first pelts of rain hit her legs. She didn't know where they were running, or how he was seeing in the no light, and did she mention he was running?

But they were off.

And then they were stopping. Tim dropped her to her feet and dug into his pocket for a key. The silver airstream trailer had been parked off to the side of the house, she had noted it on their drive in, and as she stood in the cold ass rain she prayed there were enough amenities to provide warm air and dry clothes.

"Hurry up," her teeth were chattering, he peeked over his shoulder and winked, she glared in return nudging him none to gently in the back with a wet elbow, "sometime tonight."

With a chuckle he pulled the door open and ushered her in. There was a light on over the stove showing enough of the space to see clean surfaces and an unobstructed floor; she could work with that.

It was hard not to observe, to stop deconstructing her surroundings to fit into an article, so she turned her eyes back to Tim; if she was ever going to write about him, which she probably was, the words would be solely for her.

Arms wrapped around her from behind, she gasped, all thoughts fleeing as hands slid up over her stomach and cupped her breasts.

"Tim," a plea, a thanks, she would let him decipher it.

Urgency overtook her, turning in his arms her lips made contact with his and the kiss, oh, the kiss; it was hotness wrapped in lust wrapped in tongue.

Curiosity reached in and her fingers eased the death grip she had on his hair and slid down his chest; every girl in Dillon had been curious about one thing, one awesome and specific thing, and even as the Coach's daughter she was no exception.

The abs of Tim Riggins was a thing of legend. And her fingers, _hers_, were scratching over them.

Shucking his shirt, a wicked glint in his eye, Tim put enough space between them that her hands could explore with ease; her eyes followed her hands. She could feel the pressure of his eyes on her and tried not to be intimated by it, not to be intimidated by what was coming.

Much better to simply react, react and taste; pressing her lips to his clavicle, she took a naughty lip and smiled at his accompanying profanity.

He was a beautiful man, beautiful and had she mentioned strong, her shriek bounced off the shallow ceiling as he lifted her, slinging her over his shoulder and striding down the hall. She could only hope between half-hearted protests that there was a bedroom at the end of the journey.

A toss and a scream later and her question got answered. Slightly disheveled and more than a little aroused she sat up on the rather spacious mattress, it was at least a queen, and really how the hell had he gotten it in a trailer, but he was stripping off his jeans and any questions, died.

Tim smirked at her, she gulped in a big breath of air; "you have too many clothes on."

From somewhere inside a voice rose up, she didn't know it existed inside of her, but it convinced her to raise an eyebrow and look Tim freaking Riggins dead in the eye and ask him, "Well what the hell are you going to do about it?"

Ha! Score one for Taylor, Tim practically growled at her, hooking his fingers around her ankles he yanked her towards him until her ass hung off the edge of the bed. A move reminiscent of his play earlier she licked her lips in anticipation.

Her thoughts clearly read Tim winked at her, "maybe later," her giggle turned into a squeal when her skirt slipped down her thighs. Calloused fingers slid up her ribcage as her shirt was stripped up over her head and in the next instant she was nearly naked.

"Fucking beautiful," the praise was muttered and rough and sent heat directly to her pussy. She had been ogled before, her breasts especially, but she had never felt the attraction before, like a physical ache, until Tim looked her up and down and liked what he saw.

No different really than her earlier perusal of his skin. Emboldened by his interest she reached behind her back quickly undid the clasp on her bra, pulling the lace and wire away before she could think it through.

"Jules," a second later he was on top of her kissing and touching, his hands and tongue were everywhere all at once. Desperate to keep up she touched every bit of skin she could reach, her nails trailing down his spine, her teeth nipping at his shoulder, she licked a line across his clavicle that drew a moan from between his clenched teeth.

So fucking hot, she smiled up at him as she kissed his chin, an unspoken encouragement that he eagerly took.

She felt her thong shift, felt his fingers press against her clit, one than two knuckles slide inside and she bit her tongue; hard.

"So wet, Jules, so hot," he pushed words at her, spilling them into her ear. Language was lost to her, she couldn't think over the pounding of the blood in her veins as he worked her skin into frenzy.

Just when she was about to peak, just about to fall over again, he stopped, hands and wonderful, amazing fingers disappearing, he sat back on his heels. Blinking up at him, eyes focusing on his intention, her underwear left her body in record time; she knew it was time.

Without question or hesitation he stood she followed his movements to a small nightstand where he grabbed a condom from the drawer, huh, she was only a little bit ashamed to admit it had never occurred to her. But then he was naked and her shame turned to wonder and then to downright excitement when he began to roll it on.

Scrabbling to her knees she reached out gripping his wrists, stopping him, he arched an eyebrow at her, but didn't protest as she finished for him, her fingers stroking his cock, her palm cupping his balls.

Her thumbs pressed into the line of muscles leading from hips to yum and she pressed a kiss to his sternum, pleased to feel his heart beating at breakneck speed beneath her lips.

With a shove she was on her back and he was on top of her, "you ready for this?" his hips rolled up once, the tip of his cock inching inside of her; he was a fucking tease.

She slapped at his arms, "yes, please," he laughed, asshole, he was a tease and he knew it.

Opening her legs, her knees lifting, she rocked up. She'd go to him if he wasn't coming to her, "bitch," there was no malice in the word and she smiled.

He was hot and she was horny and so, so ready to get her some; she rocked up again, harder this time.

And he relented, bending his head down enough to catch a nipple between his teeth he grinned at her a split second before thrusting into her. Connection, hard and soft, there was a heartbeat, a breath, she caught his eyes, hazel and beautiful watching her, his jaw clenched; she reached up and smoothed away the tension.

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder she rocked her hips, there wasn't much room to move, but it was enough to get him going; and boy did he. Like a whirlwind there were kisses and touched and fingers, and God he had the most perfect kiss ever, and soon she was reaching for it; could taste it just beyond her fingertips.

"That's it Jules, come on girl, come the fuck on," it was the profanity that did her it. That Texas drawled bit of cursing had stars exploding behind her eyes and she dug her fingers into his back, registering his hiss of pain and groan of pleasure as his own orgasm took over.

She didn't want to come back down from that high closed her eyes and willed the feeling to stay. Christ she could write a song and sing it from the rooftop she felt so good.

"Well damn," Tim peered down at her, his bangs falling forward hiding his eyes, she let out a breath, blowing them out of his face and got the most brilliant smile in return.

Grinning cheekily back at him, she slid her arms up his until they sank into his hair and she could smooth it back from his face. God he was pretty.

"Like that?" he grunted and nipped at her shoulder as he rolled to his left taking his weight off of her but dragging her along with him.

"Like hardly seems a strong enough word," she watched as he stripped off the condom and reached for the trashcan, messy but absolutely necessary she supposed.

Distracted she almost, almost, missed his hand as it crept back and cupped her breast. Rolling onto her back Tim propped his head up on one hand and continued to run his hands across her body, he seemed content to explore, to take the time they had not taken minutes earlier.

She was so OK with that.

More than OK with that, and so ready to have a commitment to more of it, "like is good," she reached up, cupping his head and pulling him close for a kiss, "but maybe later we could try for great," she kissed his nose, "or amazing," she kissed his chin, "or stupendous," he caught her bottom lip with his teeth and tugged.

"That's a mighty big word," she laughed and fell back onto his pillow.

"I'm a writer remember. I know lots of big words."


	8. Chapter 8

Many apologies, I simply lost the plot and really struggled with this chapter. In the end I am content. Please hit the little button and let me know what you think.

The water that stretched out before her was too blue, if something could be too beautiful, than the beach and ocean before her would qualify. Just to make matters more annoying the skies were clear and there a warm breeze, the absolute perfect temperature, and the absolute perfection of it made her want to scream.

Julie had become _that_ person, the person who is frustrated and annoyed most of the time and it frustrated and annoyed her that that was who she was becoming. Hawaii was supposed to be amazing, which it was, and serene, which it could be, and for lovers, which just made her want to hit something; or someone.

Tim Riggins had done this to her; had made her this person she didn't know or like. One lost weekend of good food, great company, and perception altering sex and this was the result; Hawaii and clear skies and blue water and misery.

A month had passed since Baltimore, her deadlines had been reached, and her work was in no way suffering. She called her parents regularly and kept up with Tyra religiously, and Tim had turned out to be a surprisingly good texter.

Every one of her texts had been responded to, even the most mundane, like the detailed account she had given of the light streaming into the window at the hotel in Milwaukee. Tim had come up with some of his own quirky and random thoughts of his own.

Not once, ever, in the time that she had known him _before _had she thought of 33 as 'random' or 'quirky'; the jury was still out as to whether or not that was a good thing.

When they had parted ways at the airport, there had been no awkward promises or emotional goodbyes. He had walked her to the security checkpoint and kissed her softly on the cheek. They had said their real goodbyes in the privacy of his truck twenty minutes prior, those hands and lips and that warm feeling in her stomach had followed her through take off.

Later that night, that first night after, he had called her, which had been nice, 'just wanted to hear you voice Jules,' so it had been better than nice. Tim was better than she could have ever imagined. Her email account contained a dozen pictures of new work that was being done to the house, and he had called more than once for her opinion, 'blue for the study, nothing garish,' she had readily offered her thoughts.

She knew the house wasn't hers, that she might not ever step foot in it again; a little tiny voice had whispered that _someone_ else might be step across that threshold one day.

In Montreal that voice had not protested loud enough to dissuade her form cooing over the perfect side table for the living room. Giving in to the impulse she had bought it for him. The owner of the antique store had assured her that he would get it delivered in one piece.

Her bank account had grimaced at the shipping, but she had boldly signed her name on the credit card slip. When asked what the card would read she had snatched up the stationary right quick and detailed instructions as to where it should and what was to go on it.

There been no signature attached. Her mother would have flipped over her complete lack of proper letter etiquette but signing it had felt entirely too personal.

The Brown website had said that it had gone out for delivery yesterday, and she knew he was in town for more press runs; the likelihood that he had been at the house for the delivery was good. She had checked her phone a dozen times for a message or missed call.

She could have just asked him if he had gotten it himself, but she had left it to chance, at least that's what she had told the little voice inside her head.

Besides she was fairly certain he would have said something, anything, had he received it. Tim might not have been the most verbose person in her circle, but he would have said something if he had liked or not liked her selection.

Glancing at her phone, 2:45pm, it occurred to her that she hadn't heard from him since after breakfast yesterday. He had been trying to get her to admit that the hotel was awesome and she was being unfair in her assessment. During one of his Pro Bowl trips he had stayed at the same hotel and had chuckled every time she had said something about the place.

Nevertheless she had stuck to her nit-picking guns, at least when she talked to him.

The hotel, resort was far more accurate of a description, was phenomenal. That the powers that be had even wanted her thoughts was an honor, her editor was over the moon. Without her there was enough clout and stars behind the name to stay fully booked, but they wanted her opinion and she was humbled.

Overall her impressions were good; it was the place in her heart that was a mess. Truth was the little voice inside of her whispering treacherous thoughts had grown from being irritating in Milwaukee to frustrating in Montreal and now, here, in this beautiful place, the voice was screaming its opinion into her; she was lonely.

Those days with _him_ had reinvigorated her spirit and dually ruined her lifestyle. And the beautiful landscape was in no way helping her reconcile the issues. How was she supposed to bounce from place to place, writing and reviewing with this ache in her chest?

For the first time Julie wanted to go back. Never once through countless cities and states, hell even a country or three had she ever ached to go back and revisit a place she had been and more than that she wanted to see those places again with Tim.

"Whatever," absently she kicked at the sand curling her toes into the warmth. To her surprise when she had checked in her key had not been to a room in the main structure of rooms. The hotel had set her up in one of the bungalows that dotted the beach west of the main building and the little spot of sand she was digging into was all hers.

The words were already forming in her word document detailing the beauty of the décor and the seamless way the resort had merged amenities with seclusion. Julie was so unbelievably grateful for the privacy that she had already dubbed the place her 'pick of the year'. The lobby had been full of families and tourists, usually the hustle and bustle appealed to her, but not this week.

This week she was enjoying the silence of her rooms, and solitude of the massages and private yoga instruction. Oh, yes this place had it all.

Leaning back into the brown rattan chair she picked up her phone, no messages, and no missed calls. With a huff she threw it back down on the side table, it knocked into her half empty glass of rum mixed with something pink and she caught the rim just before it fell over.

Today she had made an attempt, had put on her bathing suit, bikini she corrected, which was really two tiny pieces of royal blue fabric that Tyra had insisted she buy. Never one to bare that much skin all at once, in public, alone, she had wrapped around a brightly patterned sarong she had bought on impulse.

Having thought of literally everything her television was jacked right into the inventory of all the shops located in the lobby and participating local merchants, so she had been able to browse and buy via remote. The fact that there were local businesses listed had intrigued her and the idea that you could have it delivered right to your door amused her, so she had splurged.

At the rate she was going, the extra purchases were going to require she do some adjusting to her packing parameters. Picking at the silver bells adorning the hem of the fabric she justified the extra work, rationalizing that she was helping local merchants, and it was pretty. Every time she moved the sound of bells followed her.

Standing she shook out the material, smiling when the sound swished around her legs, she picked up her sunglasses off the table, ignoring her phone, the screen was still dark. Slipping the glasses onto her nose she headed for the shoreline, she wasn't ready to get in yet, she wasn't the biggest fan of sand when it was dry and wet it was everywhere and annoying.

So she compromised stood ankle deep in the water and turned her face to the sunshine. At the rate she was soaking it up, the freckles that she struggled so hard against, they had loved popping up in the Texan sky, were going to run free again.

"Whatever," it wasn't like anyone was going to be around to see.

"Talking to yourself Taylor? A damn shame," jumping at the sound of the voice, a voice she couldn't be hearing, Julie nearly fell, her feet struggling for purchase in the shifting water.

Catching herself just in time, Julie turned slowly, not really believing what she had heard; until she had seen it for herself, "Tim." Ten feet away from her, where the sand met the grass leading to her bungalow was Tim Riggins.

At the sight of him her breath caught, the faded blue denim hung low on his hips, and his arms were toned and tan, the light grey tank top was much appreciated. What got her though, what absolutely kicked her in the stomach was his bare feet, "are you seriously here?"

Really she might have had heat stroke or something because there's no way he would be here when he was supposed to be at home. The smirk he sent her stripped a little of the incredulity away, her spine stiffened.

"I mean _why_ you are here," the space between them stretched out long?

Tim shrugged moving towards her, closing some of that distance, and when he was close enough that he was up to his own ankles in water he stopped.

"You bought me something," the table, the shock of seeing him, real and better looking than she remembered, she had forgotten about the table.

"I just thought I should come say thanks," he had flown all the way to Hawaii to say thanks?

"So thanks, it looks great, put it right where you wan-"the rest of the words were lost as Julie threw herself at him, her mouth pressing against him lips.

Tim was here, had come here for her, long arms wrapped around her waist and she felt herself being lifted.

"God I missed you," she shouldn't have said it, shouldn't even have thought it, but he smelled amazing and her nose was pressed into his neck. He might not have even heard her.

On cue he pulled back, not letting go, but putting enough distance between them that their eyes could meet, "what am I going to do with you little Taylor."

She had a few ideas; pressing a kiss to his chin she whispered one to him. Tim groaned and lifted her properly into his arms, Julie shrieked as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her towards the bungalow. He slapped her ass once, hard, for what she supposed was his own amusement.

Her laughter rang out loud and long, she should have been embarrassed, maybe pissed, but excitement won out. The whole fireman carry was very Tim and very hot. She grinned as she caught a glimpse of her drink melting in the sun as they passed by, they were heading inside.

Tim put his long stride to good use, they made it the edge of her bed in record time, and she let out a whoosh of air as she her bottom hit the bed. Tim caught her ankle, her lungs seized as he trailed a finger up her calf.

Thank God she had indulged in a wax yesterday.

"Where on earth did you get that?" for a moment she was lost, but Tim's eyes were burning, gaze drifting down to her cleavage and she felt a blush beginning to burn up her skin.

She would have to remember to thank her best friend, "Tyra made me," she didn't need to say more, Tim knew very well how persuasive a Collette could be.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "is that so?" his fingers were still dancing across her skin, tearing her focus, she was still reeling from the fact that he was here, and now he was being all touchy feely and was that possessive she was hearing in his voice.

Smirking she looked up at him through her lashes, "yeah, you like it? I thought it was flattering." He was watching her lips, his eyes intent on the words she was saying, she bit her lip, feeling a little bit of the devil she didn't know she could be.

"It's something," and there it as again, a hint of something in his voice and her curiosity piqued, but his hands were wandering further up her leg and her thoughts scattered.

"Did you fly all the way out here just to criticize my clothes?"

Tim frowned, "Clothes? Generous Jules." She smirked again; he was getting all riled up and in more than one way over her bikini. Later she would have time to deconstruct the implications, right now she wanted some lips and hands and she was suddenly, fiercely wet for him.

He growled when she told him, her yelp followed as he grabbed her other ankle and yanked her forward, "Tim!"

With her ass hanging off the edge of the bed Tim made quick work of his tank top and she caught a quick glimpse of abs before he undid her sarong and dropped to his knees.

"Oh my," Tim proceeded to use touch and tongue and fingers until she was moaning his name.

He kneeled between her legs and took his sweet time removing her top.

"You like that," his words were muffled, what with her nipple in his mouth, and she was still riding the last ripple of her orgasm, how could he expect thoughts, much less words?

His grin was impish and she rolled her eyes, maybe she didn't have words, but she had some moves; rolling her hips with just enough force had him groaning, burying his face into her shoulder.

"Jules," anxious, eager, she bucked her hips again until he sat back; Julie sat up and met him for a bruising kiss, their lips not parting even as they fell back onto the bed, with her on top.

Grinning down at him she sat back on stomach, well aware that she was naked, and he wasn't. It was situation easily remedied, she made quick work of his button fly her hand wrapping around his cock, "commando?" she should have known.

Tim groaned, his head pressed into the pillow exposing his neck, she raked her nails over his Adam's apple, the feel of his pulse under her fingers made her bold. It also made him crazy, "Wallet. Condom."

Julie knew she was being mean, he had taken very good care of her and she was ready to have another go, but seeing him so unfurled, it was hot and empowering, and-"Jules," his groan jolted her into action.

There was an awkward moment, she was fishing for his wallet and he was trying to get out of his jeans while trying to kiss her. There was laughter and smiles and God she knew in that moment, in the very moment that she slid down onto his cock that she was in love with him.

The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they managed to get out bed, it was only at her insistence that she needed a moment in the bathroom and Tim's stomach began to growl that he gave in.

Tim went to see what the hotel had in the way of a mini bar, Julie was grateful for the moment alone. Staring at her reflection she could hardly believe how the day had turned itself around, this morning she had been lonely, missing him, and now, now she was in love.

"Shit," she gripped the edge of the sink, the bathroom was no less impressive than the rest of the accommodations, there was a walk in shower and a Jacuzzi tub in addition to the his and hers vanities consisting of the real porcelain bowl sinks. The very kind Tim was installing in the master bath, "fuck," she let go of the sink and turned away from her reflection.

Being in love with Tim Riggins was a very bad idea, "You fall in little Taylor?" came the shout through the door, jolting her into action.

"No! I'm coming," she peed and washed her hands and face and tried to do something to her hair. Grabbing the short silk bathroom off the back of the door, also blue, she really needed to invest in a wider color palette, she opened the door.

"God!" Tim was standing in the doorway, arm on the jamb, a wide grin affixed to his face.

"There's nothing here but vodka and peanuts," she may have indulged in some of the snacks earlier in the day, she had been moping.

"Do you want to eat in or out?" it occurred to her that she had no idea how long he was staying, she was set to check out the morning after next, she did a quick mental scan of her schedule and it was open.

"How long can you stay," it came out quieter than she wanted, her voice was small. A muscle ticked in his left cheek, silence spread between them. Clearly she shouldn't have asked.

Brushing past him, she headed for her suitcase; the thought of staying cooped up in here was swiftly unappealing, "Out," she grabbed a jean skirt and hunted for the white bra she knew was somewhere, "definitely out." Bra in hand she was tugging at the white tank top she had worn this morning, no need to get dressed up, not if, not if he-

"I'm pretty sure that shirt didn't do anything to deserve that," he had jokes, nice.

Her blood was beginning to simmer, annoyance was hovering at the edge of anger, with her shirt finally free of the shoe it was caught on she proceeded to dress, her back to him.

"I'm starving you know, like I want a steak, very rare, the hotel brags about their award winning cuisine, so their steak better be awesome," her tongue was loose and her temper was growing, "and I could really use a drink."

Twisting right when she felt his hand brush her elbow she was out of his reach and heading back into the bathroom. With the door shut between them she allowed herself to take a deep breath. Her reflection wasn't kind. Her hair was still a mixture of bed head and getting dressed while her skin glowed with 'I had awesome sex'. Rolling her eyes she ignored the knock at the door and reached for the hair brush.

He could wait, the knock turned into a pound, or not, "Jules," he growled, figured now he had something to say.

Well she didn't want to talk now.

Applying a fresh coat of lip gloss, she pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail, better, she smiled at herself, the smile didn't reach her eyes but no one would be looking closely.

Yanking the door open she ducked under the arm poised to knock again, "all yours." Her voice was saccharine sweet and hurt her own ears, but it was all she had for him, the alternate involved yelling and she wasn't in the mood. Well she was but her temper was a fierce thing when roused.

When he didn't respond she headed for the vodka, she would need courage to finish out the night, "how about you pour me one?"

Jumping a foot in the air, her curse was swift and low as vodka splashed out of her glass and onto the table, "Damn you scared me, what the hell?"

Ignoring his request she took her glass and moved towards the window, "get your own drink."

There was ice in her voice, and she wished very much that he had not come here, the memory of their time in Baltimore had been wonderful and would have been enough, she should never have sent him that table, and he would not have felt obligated to show up.

The thought sucker punched her; the drink didn't wash away the thought either. Had he come because of the gift? Because he felt like he had too?

"Those look like heavy thoughts." There was no drink in his hand, they were stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, he was still without a shirt and she felt her eyes wander before she caught them and snapped her gaze back out the window.

Taking another sip, the burn snapped the words out, "you should get ready."

She wanted out of the room that still smelled like sex and more clothes on him and she just wanted to do this all over. What she didn't want was any part of why he was staring so intently at her profile.

"Are you planning on looking at me any time tonight," she hadn't planned on it.

"Get some clothes on Tim, I want food," she felt his frown and steeled herself against it.

"Well maybe I don't want to eat," she shrugged.

"Your choice," she set her drink down on the window sill and moved towards her purse, "lock up if you leave before I get back."

And she had no intention of coming back as long as she knew he was in.

With a firm grip on her purse she got her other hand on the door knob when she heard the low stream of profanity behind her, it was her only warning.

"So that's it," Tim was suddenly there, pressed against her back, he had flattened them both against the door, "you're just going to walk away." She sputtered at his words, at his anger, how dare he-

"How dare you say that?"

His laugh blew into her neck and she shivered against her will, he was too close and had way too much persuasion against her body.

"I can say that Little Taylor because that's exactly what you did," her frown was lost in the wood grain of the door, she could have shrugged him loose, he wasn't hurting her, wasn't even holding her tightly, but she let the opportunity pass.

"Whatever Tim, it doesn't matter," it was a lie the second she said it and he knew it.

His laughter against her hair proved that, "see I don't think so Jules, I think it matters a lot."

He had a funny way of proving it, "I think this might be the most important thing ever," she gasped. What was he saying? What could he possibly mean by that?

She licked her lips; her mouth was caked in sand, "what are you talking about?"

The answer could be everything, it could be something, and he took his sweet time in answering, "I'm answering your question Jules," question, what question?

"Ask me again Jules, ask me how long I am staying," realization hit. Julie swallowed pushing past the nerves and fear and the even more bothersome ray of hope.

"How long can you stay Tim?"

The press of his lips under her ear gave her chills; the tug of his teeth that followed on her earlobe gave her chills of an entirely different sort, her purse was pressing uncomfortable against her stomach, her stomach that was rolling vodka around and her nerves were latching onto the alcohol and she was getting dizzy.

Whatever he would say, right here, this moment, everything was going to change, "I don't want to leave Jules," his voice broke against her name and she felt the shock of his words crash over her, "not ever."

Well shit.


	9. Chapter 9

I am sorry for the serious delay in updates. Life, yuck, anyway here it is hopefully better late than never. If any of you still care please let me know what you think.

* * *

_Whatever he would say, right here, this moment, everything was going to change, "I don't want to leave Jules," his voice broke against her name and she felt the shock of his words crash over her, "not ever."_

_Well shit._

_

* * *

_

Dinner should have been awkward, would have been if Julie had been left holding the conversational bag. As it was Tim was proving as charming and distracting as she had ever seen him. After _the moment,_ she refused to dwell too much on what had passed between them, he had pressed a kiss to her cheek and out the door they had gone.

"Refill?" the waiter had appeared at their table, nodding she handed off her glass, her eyes caught Tim's across the table, his smile was soft and sincere. She felt the blush rising in her cheeks before she could stop it.

What was it about the man that continually left her unsettled?

Throughout their meal she had tried to focus on the food, the view, anything other than what had happened. All of which had turned into a complete and total bust.

She was obsessing, he knew she was obsessing and seemed content to let her. She didn't want to be picking over his words, his intentions but how the hell could she not?

Frowning she kicked him under the table; unfortunately it did not knock the smirk off his face.

"You're enjoying this aren't you," he sat back in his chair, "food's good, views amazing, and my company looks cute when she's pouting."

Her eyebrows rose, she wasn't pouting, "the foods better than good."

Maybe she was pouting, but only a little bit and only because she didn't know what was going to happen next; and it terrified her. The transitory life she led was extraordinarily planned out, yes she was always on the move, but she always had a destination, a reservation. Only now, now things weren't planned.

Sipping her newly refilled iced tea, the vodka had finally settled and she was steering clear of alcohol lest she make more trouble for herself. One thing that might have helped was a moment to herself. She had not forgotten her small revelation earlier, she freaking loved him, which coupled with his still as yet clarified declaration was a lot to process.

And a minute alone could bring clarity, she doubted it though, there was little in her reserves that she could draw on; she had never been in this situation. Sure there had been guys, and there had been Matt whom she had loved, but never like this. There was a burn in her chest and ache when she thought about Tim and that was new, so maybe being alone wasn't what she needed.

"I'm glad you're here," he looked at her, his gaze was sharp, inquisitive and for the first time since they had left the rooms she held his gaze.

She might be scared but she was not a coward.

Tim grinned, her heart skipped a few beats, she wasn't sure she would ever get used to him looking at her like that, or at all, "let's walk."

Standing Tim pulled his wallet out dropping three bills onto the table, her eyes might have bugged out a little given that one-third of what he'd left was a tip. The fact that he had money, that he was rich was startling. Back home the Riggins hadn't been known for their wealth and even now Tim didn't carry his money in flashy clothes or crazy items, but he was rich, he was an NFL superstar.

She was psyching herself out, so she pushed thoughts of money and fame aside, "Thanks," for dinner, for his arm she wasn't sure. Letting him lead she was pleased that he headed for the beach. They stopped long enough for her to slip off her sandals.

"I hate sand in or around my shoes," he chuckled, his own feet seemed unperturbed by the sand, he had stepped into leather flip flops that gave her a delicious view of his tanned feet. He could give her a serious foot fetish.

"Look at that," the moon he pointed to was crescent, hanging low in the horizon, a few dying clouds streaked purple through the center of their view.

"Wow," her fingers itched for her camera, "it would be an amazing shot," he nodded in agreement.

"You know we never got around to that," she blushed remembering how she had promised him a look at her unpublished work, of which there was a lot, only to have their weekend consumed by exploration and sex; lots of sex.

"I have my laptop with me," there would probably be a free moment or two to peruse them. He lifted the hand he held, catching her off guard and pressed a kiss to her knuckles; or not, she might just wrap him up in sex again.

"The season starts in little over a month," preoccupied by thoughts very much in the gutter it took her a moment to catch on, right, football. The Ravens were heavily favored in their division so she knew the upcoming fall was going to be huge for him.

"Training camp should starting soon, right?" it was funny how easy she slipped back into football talk, and now with none of the resentment she had harbored as a teenager.

His thoughts, whatever they were, had sent his gaze across the water and a million miles from her, or at least as far as the Inner Harbor.

"Camp is going to settle me in one place for a while," he looked back towards her, catching her eyes and stealing her breath.

"Then I'll be on the move, a different city each week, different hotels," the words he was saying she was hearing but she wasn't understanding.

Horrifically it wasn't until Tim used a finger to lift her chin did she realize that her jaw had literally dropped. The heat rose in her cheeks and she might have wished for a second that she could melt right through the sand.

She knew she should say something, that she had to say something, but no words formed on her tongue.

"Come on," Tim tugged on the hand he held and she felt her feet move automatically to follow him.

In her head the words she couldn't say were running back and forth furiously.

Could she?

She couldn't?

But she totally could?

Did she want to?

Why wouldn't she?

The moon shining on his profile made her squirm, she definitely wanted too.

But should she?

He was kind of famous, the whole rich football thing. She would have to tell her parents, biting her lip she tried to imagine how that conversation would go.

"You know my job keeps me on the road a lot, obviously," he was looking at her, she could feel his eyes, but hers were on her feet, picking her steps as carefully as her words, "my parents have always been proud of me."

Always, they had supported her and encouraged her throughout her career, "but they worry," he would know, would remember the care and concern inherent in her parents.

"The isolation, 'the lack of roots'," her air quotes made him smile and she smiled in return, but where were her words taking her, she had lost the plot.

Right, "I'm going to have to tell them, you know, if we do this," there was still a decision to be made, hers, but telling her folks involved him too. Whatever he was thinking, it was hidden in the darkening sky. There might have been a hint of surprise on his face; she couldn't blame him for it.

"Seems fair," she let out the breath she had been holding he was being frustratingly nice and accommodating; which may or may not make her decision easier.

And he should be nice and pleasant and not pressure her or persuade her because he was the one who had suggested this, which meant he had considered it, which meant he had thought about it. She had had it sprung on her and needed time to process it.

"I think I could make it work," the words stumbled out of her mouth before she could snatch them back, his feet stopped and he had turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"It's not a yes," backpedaling came as a knee jerk reaction, he smirked clearly confident that a yes was forthcoming, which it probably was but he didn't need to look so damn smug about it.

Her hackles officially rose she tilted her chin up, her nose went proudly in the air and regally rolled her eyes when he laughed aloud at her petulance. Tim wouldn't put up with her crap; the jury was still out on whether or not that was a good thing.

"I've been toying with the idea of a book," she bit her lip, it was so strange talking to someone in person, gauging their reactions in ways you can't on the phone or text, "there are a lot of pictures I've got stored up, images and anecdotes that I've gathered. Tyra thinks I should theme them out, put them together and publish them."

"I could see that. You know when I read that piece on Nashville it was like I was right back there," her heart dropped, he'd read her work?

"You've got an eye for detail Jules," the compliment rocked her and she knew her jaw had dropped. Never had she thought of Tim Riggins reading. Embarrassed by the unkind assumption she cleared her throat.

"Thanks," she smiled at him and hoped he could read the sincerity in it.

They had walked further than she had realized, the familiar beach front of her bungalow was not that far away.

"Where did you stay in Nashville?" conversation flowed easy between them. There was no more talk of the future or plans; simple talk of places visited and sights seen.

"I guess this is my stop," she had left earlier in such dishevelment that she was relieved to find her room key in her pocket with her phone.

Their 'tiff' and his subsequent revelation had upended her movements out the door she would have been justified had she left the room barefoot.

Tim was leaning against the wall, watching with amusement as she fought with the lock, but she won; her grin up at him was pure cheek.

He smiled back, "are you going to invite me in," his eyebrows waggled at her. Her laugh bubbled out.

Leaning back against the open door she sighed theatrically, "I suppose," there was maybe a foot and a half separating them. Teasing fate, she blew him a kiss and winked.

He crossed the space between them in heart beat. She screamed with delight when he lifted her, she might never get used to or over that.

Who knew Tim could be so playful? Her laughter ran out again as he blew a noisy raspberry on her bare shoulder. Catching him unawares she tickled his ribs and almost got more response than she could handle. Tim dropped her unceremoniously on the bed.

Staring up at him in surprise the thought registered about the time he realized his mistake, "you're ticklish?" her eyes she knew were wide with the knowledge.

What followed was a battle of finger and uncles and sneak attacks her Father would have been proud of. The battle ended when too many clothes had been discarded and the touching had turned into more intimate and pleasurable touches.

* * *

Morning had come brutally into their room, she had forgotten to close the blinds, Tim had proven most distracting, and the sunshine had woken her early.

Too early.

Extricating herself from Tim's arms had been no easy feat. Any concerns that she might have woken him were erased as he promptly rolled into the spot she vacated and continued snoring.

Rolling her eyes, or eye, as she was blind she made her way to the bathroom to wash up and then more importantly in search of coffee.

Begrudgingly she sipped her first cup, admitting that her day was destined to start early, she turned on her laptop and sat it out on the patio table.

Duty called, so she outlined a few ideas and forwarded them to her editor. Tim's suggestion was never far from her mind, not surprisingly she found herself sorting through some photos. Before she thought better of it her phone was in her hand and the number was dialing.

"Hello Julie Taylor," she smiled.

"Hello Tyra," the words just rolled off her tongue after that. No pausing, no interruptions. From Baltimore, in detail, to last night she held nothing back.

The silence on the other end of the line dragged on longer than she had hoped, "Tyra?"

There was a quiet burst of profanity that brought pink to her cheeks.

"I cannot believe you have been holding out on me, God damn it Taylor, you cannot have epic level romance and not share it with your best friend," there were many responses she had imagined, but this one surprised her.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she had thought it would be weird; "I dunno I guess because of your history."

"Right, like you and Matt don't have history," and it circled back to Texas.

"You're right, I know it."

"So are you going to do it?"

"I don't know," shifting the phone from her right to left hand she brought up Firefox and checked on flights from Phoenix, her next stop, to Texas.

"It's a big deal," it was, "but you sound happy, excited even, and that's huge," yes she was. The very thought of seeing him each morning and sharing most dinners together made her heart swell.

"It's just, I mean, God," for a writer she had no words, Tyra laughed.

"It's good to hear you flustered, God knows you've heard me enough," that was putting it mildly, "love will do that too you."

Love, she had never said a word about love, "I never said anything about love."

"Right," the laughter in her ear made her frown, "as if you would even consider any of this if you weren't in love with him. That's not how you're built Jules."

Her best friend knew her well, but that didn't mean she would admit to anything. Before she could formulate a scathing response a shadow fell over her as Tim joined at the table.

"Uh hey, I gotta go," before Tyra could sputter a goodbye Julie had hung up.

"Good morning," Tim plopped down, no happier it seemed than she at the bright morning.

"Morning," he yawned. She grinned. How could she not? A bare-chested, hair tousled Riggins was adorable.

"So," he peeked at her from under his displaced bangs.

"So," he mimicked. She grinned bigger, a laugh bubbled up and out of her chest.

"Yes," Tim quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Yes?" she nodded, the impulse had taken her and the decision had made her light headed. There were a million details to iron out and it might be impulsive and ruin the good thing they had started, but it didn't matter.

She had said yes and it felt right, and damn if she wasn't excited. Tim however was still squinting at her with one eye, his expression inscrutable.

"You serious," both eyes were on her now, his look was sharp and clear as could be.

With confidence she had no idea she had she nodded, "As serious as a Friday night."

The grin grew and she felt her breath catch as the warmth of his smile spread over her. My, oh my, but he was pretty. Tim stood, extending a hard to her which she took without hesitation.

He leaned in close, so close she could smell the mint on his breath. Was it wrong that she was turned on by his smile; cause she so was. The wind chose to play with her hair, strands blowing every which way.

He chuckled low, brushing them aside gently, her breath hitched as his thumb swept across her cheek. Her only clear thought was that she had so many thanks for her poor impulse control when it came to Tim Riggins.

"Well alrighty then Little Taylor," she rolled her eyes, he smirked, very Tim. Casual words, yes, but his eyes were warm and dare she say excited. She knew one thing that would wipe that smirk off his face.

"I have one request, think of it more as a condition. A gesture of good faith," it might be mean, it was certainly something that could be handled any number of ways.

But only on way would suffice.

"Name it," and she was fairly certain any term she named would be met. That kind of power shook her to the tips of her toes, and she filed it away for later dissection; she had to focus.

A hard thing when he was so close and his skin was warm, "Jules," he prompted.

Her wandering thoughts snapped into focus and she blurted out her condition, "You have to come to Texas with me and tell my parents."

His eyes went wide and she smirked.

Oh her Dad was so going to love to hear from 33 again.


End file.
